"Hale's Moon... This is..." Duncan trails off a little and then forces the temble from his voice. "Raivenn shuttle one, we're runnin' on fumes here and carryin' wounded. Need landin' clearance sharpish and quicklike."
He's holding onto the controls as if their lives depended on it, and truth be told, they probably did. In the back of the shuttle, Gabe, Emma and Venice sit slumped down in their seats, similar dazed expressions on their faces. What can be seen of their faces, at any rate: They're all covered in soot and dirt and blood.
A robotic recording crackles up through the ether. "There is currently no landing operator, you may land but caution."
Duncan punches the console, pushing the yoke forward. "Hold on back there..." He glances once again at an array of blinking red lights. "Caution my ass..." he murmurs and shaves the vector as much as he can.
The voice of LilyBell Snoodle hisses through the speaker. "Her gots you back. Waiting." She pauses, and the silence is filled with chatter on the channel as several people try to hail the smoking shuttle currently moving towards the surface at an alarming speed.
Duncan grits his teeth. "Brace yourselves," he barks over his shoulder and then almost shouts back to the wireless as the whole shuttle shudders wildly. "This here's more luck than science at this point, fella." Some helpful soul was trying to guide them down blindly.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the shuttle kisses the ground, skids along the concrete, and comes to rest inches away from the back wall of the Hale's Moon clinic.
Emma falls of her chair at the sudden stop. "Ow!"
Duncan slumps back in the seat. "How're we doing?"
Venice stretches in his seat and looks over at Duncan."Any you can walk away from... right?" he deadpans.
Voices start to drift in from outside the shuttle and Gabe raises her head. She grunts a low response to Venice.
Duncan pulls himself out of the seat and begins cranking the door release.
As the door slides open, Gabe stumbles out of the shuttle, her legs barely supporting her weight. Her face is set, stony. Several people have gathered outside, and in her dazed state, she barely recognizes the familiar faces of Lily and Mikie Rhiadra, approaching from a distance.
"Anyone need a heal bed?" a tall, dark man asks with concern in his voice.
Lily is dragging a hover stretcher, and pulls it up to where Gabe is standing. "Miss Gabe..." she says.
Gabe staggers for a moment as she is pushed to the side by Emma, who comes running out the shuttle. The slim girls makes it about five yards from the shuttle before she falls to her knees and throws up on the ground.
"Please Miss Gabe, ...lay," Lily pleads. "I take you to med place." Gabe looks at her without really seeing her, then looks away again.
Venice sticks his head out of the shuttle doorway and blinks. "Huh... We drew a crowd." He sounds surprised.
"Crahes tend to do that..." Emma comments in her usual deadpan tone and wipes her mouth dry.
Mikie has crossed the tarmac from her ship and frowns a little as they get out of the shuttle. "The hell happened?"
Emma rips the duct tape and throws the bullet proof vest away. "Well that didnt help...." She blinks, "Huh?"
Gabe looks around her, her eyes resting on Emma for a moment, but she doesn't move to help her up. She lifts her head and looks towards the horizon, her eyes unfocused. The inside of her head feels as if cushioned with cotton; her thoughts aren't moving in their usual, relatively linear, way.
The tall, dark man is still yapping. Gabe looks dully at him and his fancy clothes. "Seems to me you ladies need to get in the med centre!"
Duncan limps over toward the 'crete and lowers himself slowly down looking ruefully at the shuttle and then breifly at the people standing 'round.
Venice stretches again, clearly relieved to be out of the cramped shuttle. "Remind me not to insult your flying again..."
Duncan goes to reach into his pocket, out of habit, but stops halfway, blinking, his hand lowering again. Mikie Rhiadra walks over to him and crouches down. "Coop?" Behind Gabe, Lily and Venice are speaking, but their voices sound distant to Gabe, like they're behind a wall of water, and she can't make out the words.
Duncan looks up at Mikie. "Got a smoke? Mikie nods, reaching onto the side pocket of her pants and pulling out two, handing one to Duncan before going for her lighter. With a quick flick she lights it, holding the flame out to him. Duncan leans forward lighting the cigarette, inhaling as deep as he can before the pain in his ribs is too much and lets a plume of grey smoke escape as he exhales.
Gabe makes a sound, an odd sound, coming from her, a kind of dry sniffle, then falls silent again. For a moment, it felt like an iron hard squeezed at her heart.
LilyBell walks over and stands right in front of Gabe, trying to get her to focus her eyes. "Miss Gabe. You need lay down and I take you to the place to get fixed". She points to the stretcher. "See, it nice. You lay, and I take you, so easy..." Gabe blinks at Lily's face and tunes out the pleading voice.
"Jiejie...," Emma pipes up from the ground. "Go get fixed... you got..."
Duncan nods a thank you to Mikie and looks over at Gabe. "Gabe, you good?"
"Ta ma de!" complains the fancy man. "Nimen de bizui... get that woman into sick bay!"
"It very stubborn," Lily says. "Last time I gots to shoot it leg to make it not go somewhere it want to go." Gabe realises Lily is talking about her, but she can't recall the incident. She shakes her head violently and takes a couple of steps away from Lily. "Fine," she says. "I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine."
Mikie nods a little, keeping an eye on Duncan as he starts to focus his attention on his crew, knowing he tends to forget about himself.
"No shooting... no more shooting today," Emma pleads, her voice thin.
"Well if Miss Gabe not care enough about Mister Duncan to go get herself look after, that fine wif me," Lily says in an almost prim voice, and turns away from Gabe.
The fancy man has been cursing in Mandarin in the background the whole time. "Ng suoyou de xingqiu saijin wo de pigu ...WOMEN!!!!!"
Duncan glances at the shuttle again and raises the cigarette. He sniffs, noticing, for the first time, the acrid smell of cordite clingign to his fingers.
"Mister Duncan... you smell funny," Lily tells Duncan. "Funny day," he quips a little bitterly. "Lily?"
LilyBell Snoodle looks down at him.
"Tell Seana, reavers out past the Bailey. Ship's oughta be watchin' for them."
"As the advocate in this town I suggests you all take baths and gets rid of any interesting residues!" the fancy man exclaims, and for the first time since... *that*, Gabe feels an actual emotion; a very strong desire to rearrange the man's face.
Lily's eyes widen. "Oh no...She out there wif...oh no. Yes yes I tell her."
Duncan takes another drag on the cigarette and looks over the man fussing over them. "Reavers?" the man says. "All the more reason to take a bath!"
Duncan leans closer to Mikie. "Who's this guy?" he asks quietly.
Gabe looks over at the tall man, really seeing him for the first time. "Mister," she says, her voice coarse and low. "Shut the hell up." And at that, her legs fail to support her and she sinks to the ground, breathing quickly and shallowly.
The man huffs and shrugs."I'll be in my bunk!" He stomps off, to the complains of no-one.
Lily hands Duncan a cup of water. "You, drink... you need drink nice good water... ok ok I give to them girls too..you take." She holds out the cup to him.
Duncan sighs and slips the empty gague off his shoulder; using it as walking stick and grunting he gets back to his feet and takes the cup, draining it quickly.
Lily moves between the crew of Raivenn, handing out cups. "Miss Emma... take this cup. Drink."
Emma half smiles, "No thanks... Not thirsty..."
"You drink!" Lily insists and thrusts the cup at Emma, who grabs it to stop it spilling, "Ok... ok." She downs the water quietly.
Lily puts another cup on the ground by Gabe. "Maybe you can pour down this one, there plenty of medicine in there. Her need care."
Duncan limps over toward Gabe. "Up," he states simply. Gabe blinks up at him. Duncan looks back down at her. "Up," he repeats flatly. The barely contained panic inside almost breaks out as Gabe meets his eyes, and her forehead knits into a confused frown. "Duncan..." she whispers. Slowly, painfully, she starts to climb to her feet.
"S'okay..." Duncan replies evenly. "Need to find a place for the night, get food for the..." He pauses and blinks. "... the crew."
Several more people approach the growing crowd, and one of them speaks up. "Commander of the distress, how many are wounded?" Another newcomer, a woman with dark hair, stands close-by, her eyes trained on Gabe.
Emma looks at Gabe and Duncan, "Don' get up... everyone stay sitting... Tired."
Mikie moves to Duncan and lightly places her hand on his shoulder. "When you're all ready... let me know where you need to be, I'll get you there." Duncan looks at Mikie. "We can work..." he says, not totally convincingly.
"I know..." Mikie gives Duncan a slight nod, letting him know the offer is open ended.
"The medical bay can carry any aid needed, locals can provide a place to rest," says stranger number one. "Can you provide details of what attacked you?" As he talks, the woman approaches Gabe and grabs hold of her arm. "You shouldn't walk," she says. "Let me carry--"
Gabe looks around at the woman. When she grabs Gabe's arms she jerks away, almost falling over again. "Don't touch me!"
Duncan glowers at the woman. "Let her be." Venice walks between the two of them. "Its been a bad day. Lady wants space, you would too in her shoes."
The woman glares at the three of them. "You dont want help? Fine!" Muttering, she hangs back, hovering at the edge of the crowd.
"Duncan, can you provide what attacked or what injured your crew?" stranger number one drones on. Mikie looks to the man. "Reavers..."
Gabe looks over again at Venice, then down at Emma. She feels numb, even with the burns and the wounds, she feels cold and numb to the core.
"Great..." the man says. "Did they follow you?"
"Figure iffn' they'd have followed em in, they'd be here by now," Mikie murmurs.
"Followed as dust..." Emma whispers.
"They's dead." Gabe's voice is low, monotone.
"They aint coming. they burned with the boat." Duncan looks firmly at the man. Emma nods slowly. "Big badda boom..."
Gabe draws in a short breath and shivers, shaking her head slowly.
The woman pipes up again. "Now will you stop your nice way of talking and let me take you to the hospital? Or you prefer to stay on the ground?"
Duncan finally looks over to woman. "Lady, you wanna go to the infirmary?"
Mikie frowns a little. "These folk have had a hell of a shock, last thing they need is a stranger givin' 'em lip and grabbing hold of 'em."
Gabe is hardly in any kind of condition to put anyone in the infirmary at this point, but that doesn't stop her from staring the woman down. "Don't. Touch me."
Mikie takes a step closer, tensing a little.
The woman stares at them, then walks off in a huff.
Not even giving the departing woman the tiniest glance, Duncan looks at the stranger. "There a place to eat 'round here?"
"Yes, sadly on the other side the town," the man says. "I can provide a ride, if you like."
Duncan shakes his head, stubbornly gritting his teeth as he straightens up. "We'll find it." He limps back to the shuttle and sits in the open doorway. A dog, its fur singed and matted, slinks past Duncan out of the shuttle, tail low, head low, and pads over to Emma. It whines and licks her arm.
Venice looks over at Coop. "Boss?"
Duncan ruefully shakes his head. "Reckon you'd best get used to callin' someone else that, V."
"Doubt it would have such a nice ring on anyone else," Venice deadpans.
Gabe watches Duncan, then follows him over. She stands beside him and reaches out, her hand shaking, her fingers stopping just an inch shy of his shoulder. "D...?"
Duncan looks at Gabe, lines in the corners of eyes deep as he squints in the breeze.
Tears rise in Gabe's eyes, and she blinks them away. "He's not goin' anywhere," she whispers. "None of us are." It could mean any number of things, and she's not even sure herself which it is.
Still looking at Gabe, Duncan continues speaking to Venice. "Put this crew together on the promise of work... no boat means no work, an'.." A bitter note enters his voice. "I ain't rightly sure as to when that state of affairs is gonna change."
Emma looks up from her knees, "Don' be dumb..." The dog whines again and butts Emma's shoulder with its head. Emma puts an arm round the animal's neck and scratches its ear. She pulls herself onto her feet, using dog as support a little. "Need t'get food. no one thinking straight..." she says.
Mikie sighs a little, unsure what to do "D... anything I can do to help, you or your crew... just say the word.... you know you're the closest thing to family I got..."
Duncan looks at Gabe and then glances over to Mikie "We'd use a ride."
"You got it," Mikie says immediately. She looks to Emma. "Girl's right though... you need to get some food into you... "
Emma nods. "Vegtable food... no... meats... or things with blood. Not today" She shivers.
Duncan nods and looks at Gabe again. "Food?"
Gabe shrugs apathetically. "Sure."
Duncan begins fishing in his pockets for money and then frowns. Still no coat pocket. "Food? Where?"
"Guessin' Fooks' is still the place here... been a whole lifetime since I was here," Mikie says.
"They do, uhm... serve things that are other than rats, right...," Emma says hesitantly. "'Cos last time I was there I had to eat a rat-bun... don' wanna eat a rat-bun..."
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
"You don't touch me. Ever."
Title: Gabe backstory
Author(s): Gabe Yazimoto
Character(s): Gabe, Will
Timeline: A couple years back
Canon: Yes
Warnings: Mild violence and profanity
Much like a wooden chopstick, the bones of the human body will bend under pressure. The ulna and the radius, the major bones of the lower arm, lay parallel and apart, even at the most awkward of normal, voluntary movements. You turn your hand and the bones shift, crossing each other, but always at a distance. They are both connected to the carpals, the small bones comprising the wrist.
If you twist the lower arm beyond the natural capability of the muscles, you begin to exert strain on both ulna and radius, as well as the carpals. The bones will start to bend, putting pressure on sinew and tendons, both at the wrist and at the elbow. The elasticity of the bones will endure such abuse up to a certain point, until the pressure on the bones becomes either too severe or too sudden.
****
Gabe knew nothing of anatomy. Not the kind of anatomy you might learn on Orisis, at any rate. The how's and why's. The names of bones, the delicate way the human body is put together. Gabe was more in the business of cause and effect. What hurts. What breaks. What incapacitates. How to accomplish it.
Will's arm was twisted behind his back at an almost impossible angle. It actually didn't take much force at all: Gabe's grip on his thumb was not vice-like, but extremely effective.
The side of his face and the front of his body were pressed up against the bulkhead. Rough metal was probably biting at his cheek, but neither Will nor Gabe cared much about a scratched-up face, though for wholly different reasons.
"Let go'a me, you crazy bitch!"
"Shut the fuck up."
Gabe turned her hand, just a fraction of an inch. Will shut the fuck up. He was breathing heavily now, beads of perspiration appearing on his bald head. Gabe leaned in, putting her mouth less than an inch from Will's ear. It was dirty, the canal caked with wax, and did not change Gabe's perception of its owner, not even a little bit. It was an ear fit for a man like Will.
"Listen to me." She spoke lowly and calmly. Will stilled and listened.
"If you ever, ever, put your hands on me again? I will remove them. Dong ma?"
Will stirred and tried to yank his arm out of Gabe's grip, and she shoved him back against the wall.
"Oh, come off it," Will hissed, his voice slightly muffled due to the side of his mouth pressing against the wall. "You're walkin' 'round, wrigglin' that pì gu of yours at the whole gorram crew, you're just askin' f--"
Will howled.
"You're gonna break my ruttin' arm!"
"Remove. Them. Do we have an understandin'?" Gabe's teeth were bared now, and she turned her hand slightly with each barely composed word.
Will gasped in pain, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. The scar running down his face shone a bright red against his pale skin.
"Just... 'cause you been lettin'... the Man slip it to ya--"
Gabe braced the heel of her hand against Will's elbow and pushed while she pulled on his hand.
Crack. Ulna. Will screamed, the sound absorbed by the walls of the narrow corridor.
"Lemme make one thing perfectly straight," Gabe growled. "I ain't McMahon's doxy. I earn my keep on this here crew just like the rest'a ya. Just 'cause you been too busy playin' with yourself in your bunk to notice, don't make it not so. And you best take that to the bank, Will, or I'm gonna hurt you in ways that'll make right now seem like a day at the fair. Dong ma?"
She pulled again at Will's arm, making the fractured ends grind against each other. Will, beyond screaming now, just whimpered.
"... yes, yes, I understand..."
"Good."
Gabe released his grip on Will's hand, and the man slid down the wall to his knees, cradling his broken arm. She looked down at him: this whimpering, pathetic excuse for a man. Her lip curled, and she hawked deeply and spat on him.
"You don't touch me. Ever."
And with that she turned and walked away, leaving him there, on his knees, with her spit trickling down his face together with his own tears of pain and anger.
She was beginning to get a really, really bad feeling about all this.
Author(s): Gabe Yazimoto
Character(s): Gabe, Will
Timeline: A couple years back
Canon: Yes
Warnings: Mild violence and profanity
Much like a wooden chopstick, the bones of the human body will bend under pressure. The ulna and the radius, the major bones of the lower arm, lay parallel and apart, even at the most awkward of normal, voluntary movements. You turn your hand and the bones shift, crossing each other, but always at a distance. They are both connected to the carpals, the small bones comprising the wrist.
If you twist the lower arm beyond the natural capability of the muscles, you begin to exert strain on both ulna and radius, as well as the carpals. The bones will start to bend, putting pressure on sinew and tendons, both at the wrist and at the elbow. The elasticity of the bones will endure such abuse up to a certain point, until the pressure on the bones becomes either too severe or too sudden.
****
Gabe knew nothing of anatomy. Not the kind of anatomy you might learn on Orisis, at any rate. The how's and why's. The names of bones, the delicate way the human body is put together. Gabe was more in the business of cause and effect. What hurts. What breaks. What incapacitates. How to accomplish it.
Will's arm was twisted behind his back at an almost impossible angle. It actually didn't take much force at all: Gabe's grip on his thumb was not vice-like, but extremely effective.
The side of his face and the front of his body were pressed up against the bulkhead. Rough metal was probably biting at his cheek, but neither Will nor Gabe cared much about a scratched-up face, though for wholly different reasons.
"Let go'a me, you crazy bitch!"
"Shut the fuck up."
Gabe turned her hand, just a fraction of an inch. Will shut the fuck up. He was breathing heavily now, beads of perspiration appearing on his bald head. Gabe leaned in, putting her mouth less than an inch from Will's ear. It was dirty, the canal caked with wax, and did not change Gabe's perception of its owner, not even a little bit. It was an ear fit for a man like Will.
"Listen to me." She spoke lowly and calmly. Will stilled and listened.
"If you ever, ever, put your hands on me again? I will remove them. Dong ma?"
Will stirred and tried to yank his arm out of Gabe's grip, and she shoved him back against the wall.
"Oh, come off it," Will hissed, his voice slightly muffled due to the side of his mouth pressing against the wall. "You're walkin' 'round, wrigglin' that pì gu of yours at the whole gorram crew, you're just askin' f--"
Will howled.
"You're gonna break my ruttin' arm!"
"Remove. Them. Do we have an understandin'?" Gabe's teeth were bared now, and she turned her hand slightly with each barely composed word.
Will gasped in pain, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. The scar running down his face shone a bright red against his pale skin.
"Just... 'cause you been lettin'... the Man slip it to ya--"
Gabe braced the heel of her hand against Will's elbow and pushed while she pulled on his hand.
Crack. Ulna. Will screamed, the sound absorbed by the walls of the narrow corridor.
"Lemme make one thing perfectly straight," Gabe growled. "I ain't McMahon's doxy. I earn my keep on this here crew just like the rest'a ya. Just 'cause you been too busy playin' with yourself in your bunk to notice, don't make it not so. And you best take that to the bank, Will, or I'm gonna hurt you in ways that'll make right now seem like a day at the fair. Dong ma?"
She pulled again at Will's arm, making the fractured ends grind against each other. Will, beyond screaming now, just whimpered.
"... yes, yes, I understand..."
"Good."
Gabe released his grip on Will's hand, and the man slid down the wall to his knees, cradling his broken arm. She looked down at him: this whimpering, pathetic excuse for a man. Her lip curled, and she hawked deeply and spat on him.
"You don't touch me. Ever."
And with that she turned and walked away, leaving him there, on his knees, with her spit trickling down his face together with his own tears of pain and anger.
She was beginning to get a really, really bad feeling about all this.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
"Stupid Gabe... that's not an uh-oh... its a darn, or shucks... uh-oh is for dangerous things!" Emma pouted.
Title: "Every act of creation is first of all an act of destruction"; Chapter one
Author(s): Gabe Yazimoto, Duncan Cooperstone, Emma Ditko, Venice Ditko
Character(s): Gabe, Duncan, Emma, Venice, a dog named Dog
Timeline: Current
Canon: Yes
Warnings: Suspense
[Somewhere in the Black]
Gabe clicked the helmet of her vacc suit in place and was rewarded by the comforting hiss of the pressure valves, working the way they should. Salvage ops were always risky at best; abandoned ships more often than not had had their hulls compromised in one way or the other. Or they had malfunctioning life support units. Or they were simply smelly. In any case, vacc suits were more than a precaution, they were more or less mandatory.
"Are we good to go?" Gabe peered at the others through the faint sheen of mist on the inside of her helmet. Her suit had seen better days for sure, and the air recycling was not working as well as it once had. An hour, two at the top, and then she needed fresh air. A quick survey of a derelict, however? Not a problem.
"I hate these things..." They'd sighted the derelict on the return leg of a well enough paying smuggling job to Whittier. Twenty minutes ago Duncan'd called Gabe to the bridge and despite his initial misgivings the potential of ready salvage, which in turn meant unexpected profit, was enough to prompt him to thumb a baffle and tell Venice to get their suits prepped.
Now he made a final check over the shoulders, harness and seals of Gabe's suit, then Venice's before locking his own helmet into the collar. The familiar, though none the more pleasant for that fact, smell of recycled air and well worn neoprene lining suddenly assailed his nostrils, his vision limited by the grime and myriad of scratches that criss crossed the visor. He was all of a sudden very aware of the sound of his own breathing and as soon as the compression seal was opened he'd loose most of the sensation of touch. But, it was all part of wreck jumping and as much as he disliked it, he'd done it more times than he cared to recall. Turning his back so Gabe could give his suit a visual check he toggled his comms to the open setting.
"Emma? We're stepping into the 'lock. How're we looking up there?"
"Right now, you have a better idea of that than I do," Emma replied through the comms a second time, having forgotten to push the button the first. "Seriously... who designed this thing..."
It had never made sense to her, the docking port was not only below the view of the cockpit, it was quite a few metres behind it as well; leaving her only able to see what she was doing through the eyes of an old, beaten up camera, which she could swear had a slight delay. There was eventually a loud thunk, and machinery audibly whirred in the hangar below.
"Ok... With any luck, that's a hard-seal..." Emma sounded more confident than she was, she half imagined that when the door opened, they'd all be sucked out into space or something...
Venice looked up as the sound of the clamps resonated throughout the bay, loud enough to be heard even through the helmets. Picking himself up off the crate he'd been sitting on, he wandered over to the other two, and took his place in the cramped room that passed for an airlock on transports like these.
"You can barely move in these things," he complained of the suit, more used to the pressure suits used in fighters, than the heavy monstrosity he was wearing now, "Haven't your corporate masters invented a comfortable one of these yet?"
Gabe glanced sideways at Venice and grinned while she pulled the straps of Duncan's harness tight.
"Oh, buck up, kiddo," she said cheerfully. "They only weigh seventy-five pounds or so." She sounded cheerful and she felt cheerful; as always, time in transit tended to move at a snail's pace, and this was a welcome distraction. Not to mention that she shared Duncan's feelings on the matter: it was a possible extra income, and that was always a good thing.
Emma just rolled her eyes at Venice's comment.
"Sorry... They must've been too busy plotting to take over the 'verse... or something." She flicked the switch to seal the first of the airlock doors, now that all three of them were finally standing inside it, before transferring the decompression controls to the panel beside them. She leant back in the chair, at least now when the door opened and sucked them into space it would be them who pressed the button, not her.
The light that indicated that controls had been switched to the airlock went on, and Gabe, who was standing closest to it, pressed the button to open the doors. No sudden rush of air, not to mention no 'getting sucked into space in the fraction of a second'.
"Hard-seal is go," she informed Emma over the comms. "We're going in." She looked over at Duncan for the confirming nod, then watched the airlock doors as they slid open entirely, revealing the derelict's airlock chamber. It was mostly empty, with a couple of crates lying in a pile, but that was not alarming in itself. If you abandoned your ship in the middle of space, you usually did so in a hurry. And things done in a hurry tended to leave a mess behind. Gabe approached the now open airlock doors and stepped over into the derelict.
Tester sticks were usually bright green, the sort of green that would probably be visible through thick fog on even Eavesdown's gloomiest days. The one Duncan had just broken the seal for and exposed to the inside of the wreck dulled a little, with the odd speck of black and dark reds appearing on the surface, but overall remained largely unchanged.
"Still got atmo," he stated, his voice as flat and monotone with the same crackling and dull whistles he heard from the others inside his helmet. He hefted the large bag of tools, acquired though recommendation and experience, back onto his shoulder and directed a pale lance of torch light deeper into the expanse of the cargo bay.
The scene was one of disarray as far as he could make out. Packing cases were broken and littered around, overhead ductwork torn down and at least two cable looms were intermittently showering the darkness with near blinding sparks of white. Duncan scanned the bay with the torch again, shadows shifting as he moved.
"I'm gonna head aft... see if there are any parts we can use from the plant." Having sketched a rough layout for the deck plan of this class of ship from the cortex, he raised his torch and turned the wrist of his left arm, so he could see better the folded and creased slip of paper taped to the inner forearm of his suit. "You two head up to the habitat area; you know what to look for."
Emma stuck her foot out as the flight controls whizzed by a third time, bringing the spinning chair to a rather sudden stop that nearly threw her out of it.
"You got the...woah..." She let go of the transmit button and paused, until she could finish a sentence without sounding like she had just made herself extremely dizzy; there was no reason to let the others know she was messing around in the control room while she waited. "You got the list of parts I gave you, right Mr.D?" Or rather, the list that she had given Gabe, to give to him, because she was still nervous about taking things directly to him.
Venice chuckled to himself as he overheard the radio chatter.
"Careful Em, you sound like your about to lose your lunch." He knew the sound of her voice all too well, it was the exact same as the trainee pilots had when they stepped out of the G-force simulators back on Shadow. "If you're that bored, you could always switch with someone."
Emma would have stuck her tongue out if she could, but the comms were audio only.
"Very funny... and anyway, you really don't want me down there... Ask Gabe what happens every time I've been let loose on a salvage mission if you don't believe me-"
The signal cut off abruptly, and Emma found herself staring at Dog, who had propped himself up by his paws on the console, and was staring right at her. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you accidentally hit that button so I'd pay attention to you." She leant forward and hoisted the aptly named canine onto her lap, "You upset you were left behind too? Its not their fault, they don't make doggie space suits yet.." She scratched behind the animal's ear "And anyway, you cant go on salvage missions, you cant carry things, dogs need all four limbs to walk, nothing left for holding crates, silly"
Emma clicked the comms back on, the dog now satisfied with the amount of attention it seemed to be getting. "Sorry, technical difficulties." she joked, "And anyway, I'm allowed to be bored, its not like you have a camera feed I can watch or anything. Heck, you could at least describe what your doing as you go..."
"Em, this is a salvage op, not a gorram audiobook," Venice replied through his teeth, in the midst of forcing an unusually stubborn hatch open at the same time. "Honestly... who locks the doors behind them when they are abandoning ship?" He complained, as the door finally gave way, before stepping back so Gabe could go through. "After you."
Gabe grinned, hidden behind the scratched visor of her suit, at the banter between the Ditkos. She was carrying an old tool sack slung over her shoulder; the first piece of usable loot they'd come across. When you sailed in a ship as old as Raivenn, tools got used a lot and hence got worn out often, and finding new ones was always good.
"Now, can't blame folks for followin' old habits--" she told Venice, and stepped through the hatch into the galley of the ship. How that sentence was meant to end would be forever clouded in mystery, because it was gone from her mind in an instant.
"Uh-oh..."
The galley was a mess. Unless you had expert training in forensics, the chain of events leading up to the mess was hard to suss out: almost everything that wasn't nailed down (and some things that probably had been) had gotten thrown about. Chairs were tipped over, and so was the table, there were broken glasses and china-ware all over the floor. Every cupboard was open, with some of the doors hanging on one hinge or completely torn off. In a corner a sofa lay on its back, gutted, several slashes across the upholstery making the straw-and-horse hair filling spill out. It looked like someone had turned the entire kitchen and common area upside down.
"Seems we're not the first ones on the scene, Captain," Gabe said over the perpetually open comm channel. It was disappointing as hell, no question about it. If others like themselves had already been here, the chances of actually finding something of value were slim. "Gorrammit!"
"Might be I'm reachin' the same conclusion," Duncan murmured, having ducked under another fallen, or torn down conduit across the entrance to the engine room. The scene of disarray and ruination that lay before him was decidedly not what he'd hoped for. At best someone had already been over this part of the abandoned ship and picked it clean.
Emma startled as Gabe's exclamation rang out over the comms, springing for the transmit button at speeds that would have made any smaller animals fly off of her lap, though thankfully all Dog did was perk his ears up, wondering what all the commotion was.
"What's uh-oh? Don't just uh-oh! Be descriptive, you know I cant see you guys..." She let her worried rant trail off as she heard Gabe on the other side, trying to explain the situation to the captain over her own frantic transmission.
She let go of the transmit button, and slumped back relieved into her seat, pulling Dog close.
"Stupid Gabe... that's not an uh-oh... its a darn, or shucks... uh-oh is for dangerous things!" She pouted as the animal on her lap just looked at her in confusion, "Your owner is dumb... making me get scared for no reason," she explained, trying to calm herself down by scratching behind the animal's ears again.
"Galley's a mess, Em," Gabe explained distractedly as she took a step over a broken chair, moving further into the room, the beam of her flash-light sweeping this way and that.
"Who breaks chairs?" Venice remarked as he followed Gabe, picking up a piece of the chair she had just stepped over, and casually throwing it from hand to hand. "Can't hide nothin' in these, especially such cheap ones." He chucked the piece of wood behind him and quickened his pace to catch up, "Either very dumb looters, or very desperate ones. Or..." He shrugged and let his thought trail off, leaving everyone else to finish it how they desired.
The halo of light from Duncan's torch scanned across the room. Light falling on the main carapace of the engine core, torn open, gaskets and bearing mounts pulled from their precious resting place, sheared and split. Tools and spares that were probably once carefully stowed and stacked by the bulkheads were scattered on the deck and the tester stick he still carried had turned solid black as soon as he entered the compartment: a sure sign of a coolant leak, if the ruptured pipework and vapour plumes weren't telltale enough.
"Emma... don't reckon you'll be gettin' too much of that wishlist this trip."
Emma blinked, and looked up from Dog when she heard her name, having now decided, after the Gabe-induced panic, to only listen when people were actually talking to her; until she got bored again, in any case. She stretched her leg out, and bumped the comms with her heel.
"I wasn't exactly holding out much hope anyway... From the blueprints you found, not much was gonna be compatible with an ol' Firefly like ours..." Meanwhile, unbeknownst to her, a small blip had appeared, and subsequently vanished on the interference riddled instruments in front of her. Ironically, the very thing she was supposedly left on board to watch out for.
Curiously, Duncan stepped further into debris-strewn scene. Crouching, he let his gloved hand grope in the semi dark before it closed round a crushed cardboard container. Finding it empty he scowled and tossed it to the side before reaching further and finding what he recognised to be a set of engineering callipers. Duncan smiled; not nearly as valuable as replacement seals, or the gasket that Emma had asked him to keep an eye out for, but at least there would something for her to add to her collection after all.
Duncan's eyes followed as pale torchlight moved forward over more small and seemingly incomplete parts and what he recognised as the ratchet for a torque set. Again he reached forward, not quite reaching it on the first attempt, another piece of precious for Emma, as he raised it to eye level and examine it with his less than expert eyes. Even if he wasn't entirely covered with the suit he probably wouldn't have been able to assess the workings of the piece but what he did recognise was the thick, almost black trail across the fingertips of his glove.
"Gabe..." Duncan began, compelled to crawl further toward the back of the compartment. "...what've you got up there?"
Torchlight showed where the trail of of blood, half clotted in the inhospitable conditions of the coolant flooded compartment, lead to the back of the half destroyed engine core. The face was contorted, frozen in a death-mask of pain and terror. What had once been the chest cavity was torn and split in a way that made the carnage of the engine room seem mild in comparison.
Down in the galley, Gabe turned around enough to flash a quick grin at Venice.
"Now, don't judge," she said. "Maybe the fella had a deep and passionate dislike for chairs. Some childhood trauma or summat. It happens." The smile didn't reach her eyes, though, and she turned away again, making her way towards the kitchenette by zig-zagging between the debris. Venice was right; it didn't make sense. Then Duncan's voice crackled in her ear and her blood ran cold.
"D, what's wrong?" she said, because something was wrong. The tone of Duncan's voice was not a good one. Not one tiniest bit. "D, talk to us!"
Author(s): Gabe Yazimoto, Duncan Cooperstone, Emma Ditko, Venice Ditko
Character(s): Gabe, Duncan, Emma, Venice, a dog named Dog
Timeline: Current
Canon: Yes
Warnings: Suspense
[Somewhere in the Black]
Gabe clicked the helmet of her vacc suit in place and was rewarded by the comforting hiss of the pressure valves, working the way they should. Salvage ops were always risky at best; abandoned ships more often than not had had their hulls compromised in one way or the other. Or they had malfunctioning life support units. Or they were simply smelly. In any case, vacc suits were more than a precaution, they were more or less mandatory.
"Are we good to go?" Gabe peered at the others through the faint sheen of mist on the inside of her helmet. Her suit had seen better days for sure, and the air recycling was not working as well as it once had. An hour, two at the top, and then she needed fresh air. A quick survey of a derelict, however? Not a problem.
"I hate these things..." They'd sighted the derelict on the return leg of a well enough paying smuggling job to Whittier. Twenty minutes ago Duncan'd called Gabe to the bridge and despite his initial misgivings the potential of ready salvage, which in turn meant unexpected profit, was enough to prompt him to thumb a baffle and tell Venice to get their suits prepped.
Now he made a final check over the shoulders, harness and seals of Gabe's suit, then Venice's before locking his own helmet into the collar. The familiar, though none the more pleasant for that fact, smell of recycled air and well worn neoprene lining suddenly assailed his nostrils, his vision limited by the grime and myriad of scratches that criss crossed the visor. He was all of a sudden very aware of the sound of his own breathing and as soon as the compression seal was opened he'd loose most of the sensation of touch. But, it was all part of wreck jumping and as much as he disliked it, he'd done it more times than he cared to recall. Turning his back so Gabe could give his suit a visual check he toggled his comms to the open setting.
"Emma? We're stepping into the 'lock. How're we looking up there?"
"Right now, you have a better idea of that than I do," Emma replied through the comms a second time, having forgotten to push the button the first. "Seriously... who designed this thing..."
It had never made sense to her, the docking port was not only below the view of the cockpit, it was quite a few metres behind it as well; leaving her only able to see what she was doing through the eyes of an old, beaten up camera, which she could swear had a slight delay. There was eventually a loud thunk, and machinery audibly whirred in the hangar below.
"Ok... With any luck, that's a hard-seal..." Emma sounded more confident than she was, she half imagined that when the door opened, they'd all be sucked out into space or something...
Venice looked up as the sound of the clamps resonated throughout the bay, loud enough to be heard even through the helmets. Picking himself up off the crate he'd been sitting on, he wandered over to the other two, and took his place in the cramped room that passed for an airlock on transports like these.
"You can barely move in these things," he complained of the suit, more used to the pressure suits used in fighters, than the heavy monstrosity he was wearing now, "Haven't your corporate masters invented a comfortable one of these yet?"
Gabe glanced sideways at Venice and grinned while she pulled the straps of Duncan's harness tight.
"Oh, buck up, kiddo," she said cheerfully. "They only weigh seventy-five pounds or so." She sounded cheerful and she felt cheerful; as always, time in transit tended to move at a snail's pace, and this was a welcome distraction. Not to mention that she shared Duncan's feelings on the matter: it was a possible extra income, and that was always a good thing.
Emma just rolled her eyes at Venice's comment.
"Sorry... They must've been too busy plotting to take over the 'verse... or something." She flicked the switch to seal the first of the airlock doors, now that all three of them were finally standing inside it, before transferring the decompression controls to the panel beside them. She leant back in the chair, at least now when the door opened and sucked them into space it would be them who pressed the button, not her.
The light that indicated that controls had been switched to the airlock went on, and Gabe, who was standing closest to it, pressed the button to open the doors. No sudden rush of air, not to mention no 'getting sucked into space in the fraction of a second'.
"Hard-seal is go," she informed Emma over the comms. "We're going in." She looked over at Duncan for the confirming nod, then watched the airlock doors as they slid open entirely, revealing the derelict's airlock chamber. It was mostly empty, with a couple of crates lying in a pile, but that was not alarming in itself. If you abandoned your ship in the middle of space, you usually did so in a hurry. And things done in a hurry tended to leave a mess behind. Gabe approached the now open airlock doors and stepped over into the derelict.
Tester sticks were usually bright green, the sort of green that would probably be visible through thick fog on even Eavesdown's gloomiest days. The one Duncan had just broken the seal for and exposed to the inside of the wreck dulled a little, with the odd speck of black and dark reds appearing on the surface, but overall remained largely unchanged.
"Still got atmo," he stated, his voice as flat and monotone with the same crackling and dull whistles he heard from the others inside his helmet. He hefted the large bag of tools, acquired though recommendation and experience, back onto his shoulder and directed a pale lance of torch light deeper into the expanse of the cargo bay.
The scene was one of disarray as far as he could make out. Packing cases were broken and littered around, overhead ductwork torn down and at least two cable looms were intermittently showering the darkness with near blinding sparks of white. Duncan scanned the bay with the torch again, shadows shifting as he moved.
"I'm gonna head aft... see if there are any parts we can use from the plant." Having sketched a rough layout for the deck plan of this class of ship from the cortex, he raised his torch and turned the wrist of his left arm, so he could see better the folded and creased slip of paper taped to the inner forearm of his suit. "You two head up to the habitat area; you know what to look for."
Emma stuck her foot out as the flight controls whizzed by a third time, bringing the spinning chair to a rather sudden stop that nearly threw her out of it.
"You got the...woah..." She let go of the transmit button and paused, until she could finish a sentence without sounding like she had just made herself extremely dizzy; there was no reason to let the others know she was messing around in the control room while she waited. "You got the list of parts I gave you, right Mr.D?" Or rather, the list that she had given Gabe, to give to him, because she was still nervous about taking things directly to him.
Venice chuckled to himself as he overheard the radio chatter.
"Careful Em, you sound like your about to lose your lunch." He knew the sound of her voice all too well, it was the exact same as the trainee pilots had when they stepped out of the G-force simulators back on Shadow. "If you're that bored, you could always switch with someone."
Emma would have stuck her tongue out if she could, but the comms were audio only.
"Very funny... and anyway, you really don't want me down there... Ask Gabe what happens every time I've been let loose on a salvage mission if you don't believe me-"
The signal cut off abruptly, and Emma found herself staring at Dog, who had propped himself up by his paws on the console, and was staring right at her. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you accidentally hit that button so I'd pay attention to you." She leant forward and hoisted the aptly named canine onto her lap, "You upset you were left behind too? Its not their fault, they don't make doggie space suits yet.." She scratched behind the animal's ear "And anyway, you cant go on salvage missions, you cant carry things, dogs need all four limbs to walk, nothing left for holding crates, silly"
Emma clicked the comms back on, the dog now satisfied with the amount of attention it seemed to be getting. "Sorry, technical difficulties." she joked, "And anyway, I'm allowed to be bored, its not like you have a camera feed I can watch or anything. Heck, you could at least describe what your doing as you go..."
"Em, this is a salvage op, not a gorram audiobook," Venice replied through his teeth, in the midst of forcing an unusually stubborn hatch open at the same time. "Honestly... who locks the doors behind them when they are abandoning ship?" He complained, as the door finally gave way, before stepping back so Gabe could go through. "After you."
Gabe grinned, hidden behind the scratched visor of her suit, at the banter between the Ditkos. She was carrying an old tool sack slung over her shoulder; the first piece of usable loot they'd come across. When you sailed in a ship as old as Raivenn, tools got used a lot and hence got worn out often, and finding new ones was always good.
"Now, can't blame folks for followin' old habits--" she told Venice, and stepped through the hatch into the galley of the ship. How that sentence was meant to end would be forever clouded in mystery, because it was gone from her mind in an instant.
"Uh-oh..."
The galley was a mess. Unless you had expert training in forensics, the chain of events leading up to the mess was hard to suss out: almost everything that wasn't nailed down (and some things that probably had been) had gotten thrown about. Chairs were tipped over, and so was the table, there were broken glasses and china-ware all over the floor. Every cupboard was open, with some of the doors hanging on one hinge or completely torn off. In a corner a sofa lay on its back, gutted, several slashes across the upholstery making the straw-and-horse hair filling spill out. It looked like someone had turned the entire kitchen and common area upside down.
"Seems we're not the first ones on the scene, Captain," Gabe said over the perpetually open comm channel. It was disappointing as hell, no question about it. If others like themselves had already been here, the chances of actually finding something of value were slim. "Gorrammit!"
"Might be I'm reachin' the same conclusion," Duncan murmured, having ducked under another fallen, or torn down conduit across the entrance to the engine room. The scene of disarray and ruination that lay before him was decidedly not what he'd hoped for. At best someone had already been over this part of the abandoned ship and picked it clean.
Emma startled as Gabe's exclamation rang out over the comms, springing for the transmit button at speeds that would have made any smaller animals fly off of her lap, though thankfully all Dog did was perk his ears up, wondering what all the commotion was.
"What's uh-oh? Don't just uh-oh! Be descriptive, you know I cant see you guys..." She let her worried rant trail off as she heard Gabe on the other side, trying to explain the situation to the captain over her own frantic transmission.
She let go of the transmit button, and slumped back relieved into her seat, pulling Dog close.
"Stupid Gabe... that's not an uh-oh... its a darn, or shucks... uh-oh is for dangerous things!" She pouted as the animal on her lap just looked at her in confusion, "Your owner is dumb... making me get scared for no reason," she explained, trying to calm herself down by scratching behind the animal's ears again.
"Galley's a mess, Em," Gabe explained distractedly as she took a step over a broken chair, moving further into the room, the beam of her flash-light sweeping this way and that.
"Who breaks chairs?" Venice remarked as he followed Gabe, picking up a piece of the chair she had just stepped over, and casually throwing it from hand to hand. "Can't hide nothin' in these, especially such cheap ones." He chucked the piece of wood behind him and quickened his pace to catch up, "Either very dumb looters, or very desperate ones. Or..." He shrugged and let his thought trail off, leaving everyone else to finish it how they desired.
The halo of light from Duncan's torch scanned across the room. Light falling on the main carapace of the engine core, torn open, gaskets and bearing mounts pulled from their precious resting place, sheared and split. Tools and spares that were probably once carefully stowed and stacked by the bulkheads were scattered on the deck and the tester stick he still carried had turned solid black as soon as he entered the compartment: a sure sign of a coolant leak, if the ruptured pipework and vapour plumes weren't telltale enough.
"Emma... don't reckon you'll be gettin' too much of that wishlist this trip."
Emma blinked, and looked up from Dog when she heard her name, having now decided, after the Gabe-induced panic, to only listen when people were actually talking to her; until she got bored again, in any case. She stretched her leg out, and bumped the comms with her heel.
"I wasn't exactly holding out much hope anyway... From the blueprints you found, not much was gonna be compatible with an ol' Firefly like ours..." Meanwhile, unbeknownst to her, a small blip had appeared, and subsequently vanished on the interference riddled instruments in front of her. Ironically, the very thing she was supposedly left on board to watch out for.
Curiously, Duncan stepped further into debris-strewn scene. Crouching, he let his gloved hand grope in the semi dark before it closed round a crushed cardboard container. Finding it empty he scowled and tossed it to the side before reaching further and finding what he recognised to be a set of engineering callipers. Duncan smiled; not nearly as valuable as replacement seals, or the gasket that Emma had asked him to keep an eye out for, but at least there would something for her to add to her collection after all.
Duncan's eyes followed as pale torchlight moved forward over more small and seemingly incomplete parts and what he recognised as the ratchet for a torque set. Again he reached forward, not quite reaching it on the first attempt, another piece of precious for Emma, as he raised it to eye level and examine it with his less than expert eyes. Even if he wasn't entirely covered with the suit he probably wouldn't have been able to assess the workings of the piece but what he did recognise was the thick, almost black trail across the fingertips of his glove.
"Gabe..." Duncan began, compelled to crawl further toward the back of the compartment. "...what've you got up there?"
Torchlight showed where the trail of of blood, half clotted in the inhospitable conditions of the coolant flooded compartment, lead to the back of the half destroyed engine core. The face was contorted, frozen in a death-mask of pain and terror. What had once been the chest cavity was torn and split in a way that made the carnage of the engine room seem mild in comparison.
Down in the galley, Gabe turned around enough to flash a quick grin at Venice.
"Now, don't judge," she said. "Maybe the fella had a deep and passionate dislike for chairs. Some childhood trauma or summat. It happens." The smile didn't reach her eyes, though, and she turned away again, making her way towards the kitchenette by zig-zagging between the debris. Venice was right; it didn't make sense. Then Duncan's voice crackled in her ear and her blood ran cold.
"D, what's wrong?" she said, because something was wrong. The tone of Duncan's voice was not a good one. Not one tiniest bit. "D, talk to us!"
Sunday, May 16, 2010
"You want me to hold your hair back?" he quipped.
Title: Quite Some Night (or, Why Gabe Went From Hair Model to Crew Cut)
Author(s): Gabe Yazimoto and Duncan Cooperstone
Character(s): Gabe, Duncan
Timeline: Current, appr. 2 months ago
Canon: Yes
Warnings: Not a whole lot
Loud.
Gabe knew from the moment she pointedly didn't open her eyes that it was going to be bad.
Loud, loud.
She attempted to stir, without much success. Groaning? Nope. Whimpering seemed to work and she did that, her throat feeling raw and thick and dry like sandpaper.
Loud, loud, loud--
Gabe squinted her eyes open, instantly regretting it. The sunlight seemed to pierce her eyeballs and impale her brain, and she quickly closed her eyes again. Not that her headache could get any worse. Someone was using a jack hammer or something, close to where she was laying -- was she laying? yes, she was pretty sure she was -- and the sound seemed to vibrate inside her head. They could might as well have put a power drill to her temple, she thought. She instantly wished that someone would do just that, because her stomach lurched sickly, and she curled up in a fetal position, her knees against her chest, her arms raised as if to protect her pounding head from the auditory onslaught.
Gabe had a hangover. She had the mother of all hangovers.
It took a while before she tried the opening-her-eyes thing again, and this time it went a lot better. The sunlight still hurt like a sumbitch but it was bearable, and she slowly lowered her arms and raised her head to look around her.
She wasn't in Raivenn. That much was clear. She could deduce this from the fact that she was laying on a couple of flattened cardboard boxes. There were no flattened cardboard boxes in Raivenn. 'Least not any that were next to some kind of building with corrugated metal siding for walls.
Dread washed over her, ice cold and sobering, and her hands flew to the fly of her trousers. Still done, still zipped, and she relaxed a little. So far, so good. But where the hell--?
With an effort, Gabe sat up. This time the groaning thing worked, and she groaned like she was sure she'd never groaned before as renewed spikes were driven into her head.
Okay, so. She was outside. Thankfully her cardboard boxes were shaded by the surrounding buildings, otherwise she'd probably be dead from exposure. The sun was beating down hotly, relentlessly.
Was she on Persephone? The bustle drifting in from the other side of the structures told her she probably was. Forcing her brain to at least work at minimum capacity, she tried to remember.
She'd been drinking. Yes, Einstein, that much was painfully clear. Had she been in the Barrel? Yes. Yes, she had. And she'd been... yes, she'd been with Duncan, 'cause they were still at the Docks, hadn't been able to close that deal, they'd been here for days, ever since that cage fight earlier that week.
So. Okay. They'd been in the Barrel. There'd been whiskey. Lots of it. And someone had challenged her, implied that she was a weakling or somesuch, and... Yes. Whiskey.
Duncan had left. He had... yeah, he had to meet up with the gorram trader first thing the next day, didn't he, and he'd left, and she'd just grinned and waved and told him she'd be in later.
Later was such a subjective term, wasn't it?
After that, there was nothing. She tried and tried, until her eyes teared up from the effort, but to no avail. The rest of the night was just a big, black void. Not even fragments, not even a little bit, and she cursed herself, first in her head, then muttered out loud.
"...qu zih ji xue you sha bi..."
Gabe got to her feet. Unsteadily, but to her feet nonetheless. She could see people now, rushing back and forth as usual, the commonplace order of business in the Docks. The smells from the cooking stands nearby drifted into her nose, and her stomach lurched again. Doubling over, she vomited, depositing whatever the hell she'd been eating last night onto her makeshift bed, the poor cardboard boxes. She didn't want to know and didn't look, just straightened her back again, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and spat.
Gorrammit. She spat again, then ran her tongue over her teeth. It felt like they were wearing little woolly sweaters, and she sighed. Some toothpaste and a shower and then she'd sleep this off. She suspected she was still drunk.
It took her a while to find the ship, hunched over, her hands raised to protect her eyes from the stupid sun, bumping into people left and right, but finally Gabe, missing the coin purse she'd had last night, her knife, the contents of her stomach and most of the hair on her head, hobbled up the loading ramp of Raivenn.
"... honey, I'm home," she rasped, trying to make her voice carry to the upper levels of the ship. The fact that Duncan may have worried about her didn't even enter her mind.
----
The man reeled backward, eye already sore and puffy, arms failing as he twisted round and slammed into the slats of the backstreet fence. As he slumped to the ground his heels began scrabbling trying to find some purchase on the ground beneath to put some distance between him and figure approaching in the darkened alley. The paving stones were clad in mixture of algae growth and a build up of grime and the man threw his hands up shaking his head.
"I'm gonna ask but one more time," Duncan crouched over him as he muttered his protestations. "Where'd you steal this?" To add focus to the question he held the flat bladed knife up to the man's line of sight. Not that he needed reminding, it was the very fact that he'd come into possession of the knife that had led the unfortunate hwuan dan to find himself in a conversation with Duncan in the backstreet alley. So far he hadn't been too helpful, claiming he'd found it, not too far from the bar where Duncan had left Gabe the night before.
As the man just shook his head and uttered the same response Duncan reached out, pinning his hand back against the broad planks of the wooden fence and setting the blade against joint of his little finger. "First, I'll take a finger..." He stared hard at the man. "Then the thumb... so you best be telling me all you know." He waited just long enough as the man began whimpering "I told you... I found it... I found it!"
More than likely he was telling the truth, the man wouldn't risk losing the use of a hand to protect a street seller or pickpocket. Duncan rose slowly and turned leaving the man in the alley, a handful of coins clattering on the ground in his wake. As he emerged back onto the mainstreet his mood was no better for not found sight nor sense of her. "Gorramnit Gabe, why'd you need be so stubborn?" he muttered quietly. He'd been out long before first light, the moment his eyes opened and he found himself alone he'd set off to look for her. He'd already retraced their steps, the street vendor where they'd eaten the night before and the bar where she'd gotten dragged into a drinking contest. He looked down the dockside towards the UAP flag fluttering in the morning breeze. He should try there next, if she got herself in some altercation or another there was a good chance she'd be picked up by the local law and thrown in the drunk tank for the night. Before that however, he'd try the boat one more time, chances were she'd made her way back there in the hours he'd been padding the streets.
The walk from the south docks to where Raivenn was berthed was a good 30 minutes, but as he stepped up on the loading ramp the time had done little to improve his mood.
----
Duncan hadn't been in the cargo bay. Nor was he in the steps to the upper level, or in the hallway leading to the master bedroom, or in the room itself. He might've been somewhere else on the boat but Gabe didn't know because she hadn't checked. Somehow she's managed to cross the bay floor, climb the stairs and walk down the hallway, until she could collapse on their bed. The ship was mercifully quiet, but she still pulled a pillow over her head and curled up, trying to fall asleep again.
She'd almost managed to doze off when, 45 minutes later, her guts did their lovely churning again. She tried to push it back down but it didn't wanna stay down, and she only barely made it into the head, crawling on her hands and knees, before her stomach again turned itself inside out. Just bile this time, and it stung the back of her throat and the inside of her nose. She was parched, so very thirsty, but her legs didn't carry her and she remained sitting, with her back against the wall of the head, within comfortable leaning-forward distance of the stainless steel toilet bowl.
Gabe felt very, very sorry for herself.
The ladderwell was already dropped into the cabin they shared, she'd made it home. To say he was relieved was an understatement and when his feet found the deck beneath it was only a short turn until he saw her, finally, in the first place he began looking. And how she looked. "Rough night?" Any trace of irritation was gone from his voice, replaced instead with a note of surprise.
She looked up at the sound of his voice, and even though she kinda felt like jumping into the engine right now, she grinned up at him, unable to help herself. Her lip had healed up enough to not split open again when she did that, and she took full advantage of it.
"No more'n usual," she said, her voice rough and hoarse. She opened her mouth to say something else, but at that moment bile rose in her throat again and she pressed a hand over her mouth as she leaned over the rim of the toilet bowl. She dry-heaved for a few moments, then the nausea passed again and she panted, slumping back against the wall. "... gorrammit," she muttered weakly.
As she slumped back down from the bowl there was clearance enough for him to pull the basin out of the fascia and draw a cup of water for her. "You want me to hold your hair back?" he quipped, more an attempt to make her feel a little better and comment on her radical change in look than a real offer. He hunkered down opposite and offered her the cup.
Gabe flashed him a self-depreciating grin, took the offered cup and drank the water down greedily.
"... no... I'm fine," she said. Obviously the understatement of the year. "I just need... lay down a li'l. Maybe. And no light. Yeah. Absence of light. Might be good." She grew a couple shades paler as another wave of nausea washed over her, then faded again. She closed her eyes and groaned.
"... never gonna drink again," she whimpered.
Self inflicted or not she was in sorry state, his eyes darted back to her much shorter hair, ruffled and tossed, her eyes, a little bloodshot and red ringed in contrast to her pale palour. It would be worth talking about, how he left to go looking for her in the middle of the night, how he thought the worst for a few black hours maybe even how some unfortunate duh liou mahng very nearly met his end at Duncan's hand as a result and most importantly how gorramn stupid she'd been and how he'd fretted. Worth talking about, certainly, but it'd keep. "Reckon we both said that a time or two 'fore now" he murmured quietly as he reached out and traced his thumb down the outside of her face "You'd best get some rack."
She smiled weakly up at him and nodded. "Yeah. Think I better." She shifted and reached up to let him help her to her unsteady feet. She leaned against the wall and carefully rolled her head from left to right. She caught sight of herself in the mirror, looked away, then did a double-take, snapping her head to the right so hard it sent renewed spikes of pain through her head. Not that she'd notice.
"... oh... my God..." she breathed weakly, wide-eyed. Her hand rose slowly, fingertips touching the uneven, choppy... thing on her head. "...w-what...?"
He frowned a little and then his head quirked a little to the side as understanding began to piece together. "There now I thought you'd found yourself a barber shop and fancied the change..." He read the surprise in her eyes and reached out to push the sink basin back into its recess before she bumped her head on it as she made to stand up, no doubt looking for his round shaving mirror.
Gabe loved her hair. She was not a vain woman by any means, but she'd always had a head full of thick, soft hair, and she was proud of it. Sure, more often than not it was just tied back with a rubber band to keep it out of the way when she worked, and there was usually a knot or ten in it, or she hadn't had a chance to wash it for a week or two, but whenever she had the chance, and some time to herself, she liked to sit down and brush it, untangle all the knots, and braid it or put it up all fancy-like and look at herself in the mirror and smile at how unlike herself she looked before shaking it down again. Yes, she loved her hair.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror. She lifted her other hand and closed the fingers of both hands around fistfuls of what remained of her hair.
"... no," she whispered, as if that would undo it. She was already shaken by her physical condition, and her lower lip trembled and tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill out.
"... no, no, no..."
"Hey, xū cǐ kè.." he whispered quietly, arms slipping around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder as his eyes met her's in the mirror. He knew how much she liked her hair, of course, and truth be told he did too. "I like it."
She lowered her head and pressed her chin against her chest, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. The tears that had risen in them spilled out, wetting her cheeks, then falling silently to the floor. She sniffled thickly and rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands to rid them of the hateful tears. She took a deep, shuddering breath, steadying herself, raised her head again and stole one more quick glance in the mirror before turning away.
"Doesn't matter," she said, a little too firmly.
He just nodded quietly, turning himself for the ladderwell. He figured on how she'd be feeling right then, and knowing her as he did the reaction wasn't unexpected. As he set a foot the rungs and carried himself up hand over hand he thought about when they found each other, and found the way to each other's arms for the first time. '...fight with your own shadow 'fore noon, just case it kept gettin' in your way.' It was easier for her to show her emotion with him now, to accept, as he understood she saw it, some types of 'weakness'; but not this. So when he reached the corridor above he made his way to the bridge to make his routine checks on cortex bulletins and give her the space to herself.
When he eventually returned, he found her curled up on their bed with her knees under her chin and her back turned towards the ladderwell. She had kicked her boots off but was otherwise still dressed in the clothes she'd put on the previous morning. Her cheeks were dry but her eyes were red and puffy, and the sheet under her shoulder was wet. She was not asleep, and she heard him enter.
"... hey," she murmured in a slightly thick voice. She didn't turn her head.
"Hey, your ownself." His timbre filled the space between them as he sat on the corner of the bed, elbows resting on knees.
There were brown tufts of hair on the floor beneath the mirror, where she'd attempted to better the situation. She looked like someone had taken a sheep-shearer to her head and she'd found a pair of scissors to, even though it killed her to cut more off, try to even it out a little bit. She curled up tighter, hugging her legs.
"... never, ever, ever, ever, ever again," she muttered.
"Aint no-one lyin' dead, you found you're way home.." he shifted a little on the mattress to reach out a lay his hand on her hip. "an' we still got our sky. Been worse nights, to my way of mind."
She un-curled a little and tilted her head back so she could look at him. And it wasn't even that she cared what he thought (but deep down, she knew she had at least started to care), and she probably would have felt differently if it'd been her own choice, her own decision, but it wasn't, and... She sighed deeply. "I guess so," she murmured. Her hand rose, almost on its own accord, and touched the uneven bangs self-consciously. "Gone," she said, her face drooping into a nearly comical expression of confused sadness.
He nodded. "What's worse? It bein' gone or you not knowin' the hows and whys as to it?"
She shrugged, her brow furrowing and her lips pursing stubbornly, and she turned away from him and pulled her knees up again. "Dunno," she muttered.
"Well I know what'd have been worse... happen you do too. But we all get a pass on being stupid now an' again"
"Mmm." She didn't say anything else for the longest time, just laid and tried to remember something, anything, from the previous night, while attempting to ignore the headache that was still running rampant. Unsuccessful in her endeavour, eventually she looked up at him again and shifted over on her back.
"I know it ain't evenin' or nothin', and we got a million'n one things'ta do, but come lay down for a minute, willya?" She held out her arms.
His shoulder pressed hard to the mattress as he slipped an arm under her and without drawing comment or attention to it cradled her and just listened in the quiet, to the rhythm of her breathing.
"... stupid," she murmured, both conceding to the fact and echoing his earlier statement. "Feel sick," she went on. Yeah, today was all about the wallowing in self-pity. "Head hurts." She tilted her head back and pressed her lips to the angle of his jaw, then ducked her head and nestled it down in the hollow of his throat.
"Well..drinkin' holes in your gut'll do that to you.." He murmured quietly, stonewalling her a little. He nuzzled his jaw against her head a little as if it would somehow sooth it. "Didn't lose everything though.." with that his left leg lifted up and bent at the knee letting him dig his forefinger and thumb in behind the top of his boot and, having closed on the pommel of the knife he recovered from the south side of the downport he drew it out fully and held it up for her to see.
She peeked from the corner of her eye, unwilling to raise her head from it's comfortable resting place, and seeing the knife her face split in a wide grin.
"There you are," she said in a voice that was softer than was probably healthy, when directed at an inanimate object. She lifted her hand and took the knife from him, then pressed it to her chest like a child would clutch at a doll. "Thank you," she said quietly.
Author(s): Gabe Yazimoto and Duncan Cooperstone
Character(s): Gabe, Duncan
Timeline: Current, appr. 2 months ago
Canon: Yes
Warnings: Not a whole lot
Loud.
Gabe knew from the moment she pointedly didn't open her eyes that it was going to be bad.
Loud, loud.
She attempted to stir, without much success. Groaning? Nope. Whimpering seemed to work and she did that, her throat feeling raw and thick and dry like sandpaper.
Loud, loud, loud--
Gabe squinted her eyes open, instantly regretting it. The sunlight seemed to pierce her eyeballs and impale her brain, and she quickly closed her eyes again. Not that her headache could get any worse. Someone was using a jack hammer or something, close to where she was laying -- was she laying? yes, she was pretty sure she was -- and the sound seemed to vibrate inside her head. They could might as well have put a power drill to her temple, she thought. She instantly wished that someone would do just that, because her stomach lurched sickly, and she curled up in a fetal position, her knees against her chest, her arms raised as if to protect her pounding head from the auditory onslaught.
Gabe had a hangover. She had the mother of all hangovers.
It took a while before she tried the opening-her-eyes thing again, and this time it went a lot better. The sunlight still hurt like a sumbitch but it was bearable, and she slowly lowered her arms and raised her head to look around her.
She wasn't in Raivenn. That much was clear. She could deduce this from the fact that she was laying on a couple of flattened cardboard boxes. There were no flattened cardboard boxes in Raivenn. 'Least not any that were next to some kind of building with corrugated metal siding for walls.
Dread washed over her, ice cold and sobering, and her hands flew to the fly of her trousers. Still done, still zipped, and she relaxed a little. So far, so good. But where the hell--?
With an effort, Gabe sat up. This time the groaning thing worked, and she groaned like she was sure she'd never groaned before as renewed spikes were driven into her head.
Okay, so. She was outside. Thankfully her cardboard boxes were shaded by the surrounding buildings, otherwise she'd probably be dead from exposure. The sun was beating down hotly, relentlessly.
Was she on Persephone? The bustle drifting in from the other side of the structures told her she probably was. Forcing her brain to at least work at minimum capacity, she tried to remember.
She'd been drinking. Yes, Einstein, that much was painfully clear. Had she been in the Barrel? Yes. Yes, she had. And she'd been... yes, she'd been with Duncan, 'cause they were still at the Docks, hadn't been able to close that deal, they'd been here for days, ever since that cage fight earlier that week.
So. Okay. They'd been in the Barrel. There'd been whiskey. Lots of it. And someone had challenged her, implied that she was a weakling or somesuch, and... Yes. Whiskey.
Duncan had left. He had... yeah, he had to meet up with the gorram trader first thing the next day, didn't he, and he'd left, and she'd just grinned and waved and told him she'd be in later.
Later was such a subjective term, wasn't it?
After that, there was nothing. She tried and tried, until her eyes teared up from the effort, but to no avail. The rest of the night was just a big, black void. Not even fragments, not even a little bit, and she cursed herself, first in her head, then muttered out loud.
"...qu zih ji xue you sha bi..."
Gabe got to her feet. Unsteadily, but to her feet nonetheless. She could see people now, rushing back and forth as usual, the commonplace order of business in the Docks. The smells from the cooking stands nearby drifted into her nose, and her stomach lurched again. Doubling over, she vomited, depositing whatever the hell she'd been eating last night onto her makeshift bed, the poor cardboard boxes. She didn't want to know and didn't look, just straightened her back again, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and spat.
Gorrammit. She spat again, then ran her tongue over her teeth. It felt like they were wearing little woolly sweaters, and she sighed. Some toothpaste and a shower and then she'd sleep this off. She suspected she was still drunk.
It took her a while to find the ship, hunched over, her hands raised to protect her eyes from the stupid sun, bumping into people left and right, but finally Gabe, missing the coin purse she'd had last night, her knife, the contents of her stomach and most of the hair on her head, hobbled up the loading ramp of Raivenn.
"... honey, I'm home," she rasped, trying to make her voice carry to the upper levels of the ship. The fact that Duncan may have worried about her didn't even enter her mind.
----
The man reeled backward, eye already sore and puffy, arms failing as he twisted round and slammed into the slats of the backstreet fence. As he slumped to the ground his heels began scrabbling trying to find some purchase on the ground beneath to put some distance between him and figure approaching in the darkened alley. The paving stones were clad in mixture of algae growth and a build up of grime and the man threw his hands up shaking his head.
"I'm gonna ask but one more time," Duncan crouched over him as he muttered his protestations. "Where'd you steal this?" To add focus to the question he held the flat bladed knife up to the man's line of sight. Not that he needed reminding, it was the very fact that he'd come into possession of the knife that had led the unfortunate hwuan dan to find himself in a conversation with Duncan in the backstreet alley. So far he hadn't been too helpful, claiming he'd found it, not too far from the bar where Duncan had left Gabe the night before.
As the man just shook his head and uttered the same response Duncan reached out, pinning his hand back against the broad planks of the wooden fence and setting the blade against joint of his little finger. "First, I'll take a finger..." He stared hard at the man. "Then the thumb... so you best be telling me all you know." He waited just long enough as the man began whimpering "I told you... I found it... I found it!"
More than likely he was telling the truth, the man wouldn't risk losing the use of a hand to protect a street seller or pickpocket. Duncan rose slowly and turned leaving the man in the alley, a handful of coins clattering on the ground in his wake. As he emerged back onto the mainstreet his mood was no better for not found sight nor sense of her. "Gorramnit Gabe, why'd you need be so stubborn?" he muttered quietly. He'd been out long before first light, the moment his eyes opened and he found himself alone he'd set off to look for her. He'd already retraced their steps, the street vendor where they'd eaten the night before and the bar where she'd gotten dragged into a drinking contest. He looked down the dockside towards the UAP flag fluttering in the morning breeze. He should try there next, if she got herself in some altercation or another there was a good chance she'd be picked up by the local law and thrown in the drunk tank for the night. Before that however, he'd try the boat one more time, chances were she'd made her way back there in the hours he'd been padding the streets.
The walk from the south docks to where Raivenn was berthed was a good 30 minutes, but as he stepped up on the loading ramp the time had done little to improve his mood.
----
Duncan hadn't been in the cargo bay. Nor was he in the steps to the upper level, or in the hallway leading to the master bedroom, or in the room itself. He might've been somewhere else on the boat but Gabe didn't know because she hadn't checked. Somehow she's managed to cross the bay floor, climb the stairs and walk down the hallway, until she could collapse on their bed. The ship was mercifully quiet, but she still pulled a pillow over her head and curled up, trying to fall asleep again.
She'd almost managed to doze off when, 45 minutes later, her guts did their lovely churning again. She tried to push it back down but it didn't wanna stay down, and she only barely made it into the head, crawling on her hands and knees, before her stomach again turned itself inside out. Just bile this time, and it stung the back of her throat and the inside of her nose. She was parched, so very thirsty, but her legs didn't carry her and she remained sitting, with her back against the wall of the head, within comfortable leaning-forward distance of the stainless steel toilet bowl.
Gabe felt very, very sorry for herself.
The ladderwell was already dropped into the cabin they shared, she'd made it home. To say he was relieved was an understatement and when his feet found the deck beneath it was only a short turn until he saw her, finally, in the first place he began looking. And how she looked. "Rough night?" Any trace of irritation was gone from his voice, replaced instead with a note of surprise.
She looked up at the sound of his voice, and even though she kinda felt like jumping into the engine right now, she grinned up at him, unable to help herself. Her lip had healed up enough to not split open again when she did that, and she took full advantage of it.
"No more'n usual," she said, her voice rough and hoarse. She opened her mouth to say something else, but at that moment bile rose in her throat again and she pressed a hand over her mouth as she leaned over the rim of the toilet bowl. She dry-heaved for a few moments, then the nausea passed again and she panted, slumping back against the wall. "... gorrammit," she muttered weakly.
As she slumped back down from the bowl there was clearance enough for him to pull the basin out of the fascia and draw a cup of water for her. "You want me to hold your hair back?" he quipped, more an attempt to make her feel a little better and comment on her radical change in look than a real offer. He hunkered down opposite and offered her the cup.
Gabe flashed him a self-depreciating grin, took the offered cup and drank the water down greedily.
"... no... I'm fine," she said. Obviously the understatement of the year. "I just need... lay down a li'l. Maybe. And no light. Yeah. Absence of light. Might be good." She grew a couple shades paler as another wave of nausea washed over her, then faded again. She closed her eyes and groaned.
"... never gonna drink again," she whimpered.
Self inflicted or not she was in sorry state, his eyes darted back to her much shorter hair, ruffled and tossed, her eyes, a little bloodshot and red ringed in contrast to her pale palour. It would be worth talking about, how he left to go looking for her in the middle of the night, how he thought the worst for a few black hours maybe even how some unfortunate duh liou mahng very nearly met his end at Duncan's hand as a result and most importantly how gorramn stupid she'd been and how he'd fretted. Worth talking about, certainly, but it'd keep. "Reckon we both said that a time or two 'fore now" he murmured quietly as he reached out and traced his thumb down the outside of her face "You'd best get some rack."
She smiled weakly up at him and nodded. "Yeah. Think I better." She shifted and reached up to let him help her to her unsteady feet. She leaned against the wall and carefully rolled her head from left to right. She caught sight of herself in the mirror, looked away, then did a double-take, snapping her head to the right so hard it sent renewed spikes of pain through her head. Not that she'd notice.
"... oh... my God..." she breathed weakly, wide-eyed. Her hand rose slowly, fingertips touching the uneven, choppy... thing on her head. "...w-what...?"
He frowned a little and then his head quirked a little to the side as understanding began to piece together. "There now I thought you'd found yourself a barber shop and fancied the change..." He read the surprise in her eyes and reached out to push the sink basin back into its recess before she bumped her head on it as she made to stand up, no doubt looking for his round shaving mirror.
Gabe loved her hair. She was not a vain woman by any means, but she'd always had a head full of thick, soft hair, and she was proud of it. Sure, more often than not it was just tied back with a rubber band to keep it out of the way when she worked, and there was usually a knot or ten in it, or she hadn't had a chance to wash it for a week or two, but whenever she had the chance, and some time to herself, she liked to sit down and brush it, untangle all the knots, and braid it or put it up all fancy-like and look at herself in the mirror and smile at how unlike herself she looked before shaking it down again. Yes, she loved her hair.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror. She lifted her other hand and closed the fingers of both hands around fistfuls of what remained of her hair.
"... no," she whispered, as if that would undo it. She was already shaken by her physical condition, and her lower lip trembled and tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill out.
"... no, no, no..."
"Hey, xū cǐ kè.." he whispered quietly, arms slipping around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder as his eyes met her's in the mirror. He knew how much she liked her hair, of course, and truth be told he did too. "I like it."
She lowered her head and pressed her chin against her chest, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. The tears that had risen in them spilled out, wetting her cheeks, then falling silently to the floor. She sniffled thickly and rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands to rid them of the hateful tears. She took a deep, shuddering breath, steadying herself, raised her head again and stole one more quick glance in the mirror before turning away.
"Doesn't matter," she said, a little too firmly.
He just nodded quietly, turning himself for the ladderwell. He figured on how she'd be feeling right then, and knowing her as he did the reaction wasn't unexpected. As he set a foot the rungs and carried himself up hand over hand he thought about when they found each other, and found the way to each other's arms for the first time. '...fight with your own shadow 'fore noon, just case it kept gettin' in your way.' It was easier for her to show her emotion with him now, to accept, as he understood she saw it, some types of 'weakness'; but not this. So when he reached the corridor above he made his way to the bridge to make his routine checks on cortex bulletins and give her the space to herself.
When he eventually returned, he found her curled up on their bed with her knees under her chin and her back turned towards the ladderwell. She had kicked her boots off but was otherwise still dressed in the clothes she'd put on the previous morning. Her cheeks were dry but her eyes were red and puffy, and the sheet under her shoulder was wet. She was not asleep, and she heard him enter.
"... hey," she murmured in a slightly thick voice. She didn't turn her head.
"Hey, your ownself." His timbre filled the space between them as he sat on the corner of the bed, elbows resting on knees.
There were brown tufts of hair on the floor beneath the mirror, where she'd attempted to better the situation. She looked like someone had taken a sheep-shearer to her head and she'd found a pair of scissors to, even though it killed her to cut more off, try to even it out a little bit. She curled up tighter, hugging her legs.
"... never, ever, ever, ever, ever again," she muttered.
"Aint no-one lyin' dead, you found you're way home.." he shifted a little on the mattress to reach out a lay his hand on her hip. "an' we still got our sky. Been worse nights, to my way of mind."
She un-curled a little and tilted her head back so she could look at him. And it wasn't even that she cared what he thought (but deep down, she knew she had at least started to care), and she probably would have felt differently if it'd been her own choice, her own decision, but it wasn't, and... She sighed deeply. "I guess so," she murmured. Her hand rose, almost on its own accord, and touched the uneven bangs self-consciously. "Gone," she said, her face drooping into a nearly comical expression of confused sadness.
He nodded. "What's worse? It bein' gone or you not knowin' the hows and whys as to it?"
She shrugged, her brow furrowing and her lips pursing stubbornly, and she turned away from him and pulled her knees up again. "Dunno," she muttered.
"Well I know what'd have been worse... happen you do too. But we all get a pass on being stupid now an' again"
"Mmm." She didn't say anything else for the longest time, just laid and tried to remember something, anything, from the previous night, while attempting to ignore the headache that was still running rampant. Unsuccessful in her endeavour, eventually she looked up at him again and shifted over on her back.
"I know it ain't evenin' or nothin', and we got a million'n one things'ta do, but come lay down for a minute, willya?" She held out her arms.
His shoulder pressed hard to the mattress as he slipped an arm under her and without drawing comment or attention to it cradled her and just listened in the quiet, to the rhythm of her breathing.
"... stupid," she murmured, both conceding to the fact and echoing his earlier statement. "Feel sick," she went on. Yeah, today was all about the wallowing in self-pity. "Head hurts." She tilted her head back and pressed her lips to the angle of his jaw, then ducked her head and nestled it down in the hollow of his throat.
"Well..drinkin' holes in your gut'll do that to you.." He murmured quietly, stonewalling her a little. He nuzzled his jaw against her head a little as if it would somehow sooth it. "Didn't lose everything though.." with that his left leg lifted up and bent at the knee letting him dig his forefinger and thumb in behind the top of his boot and, having closed on the pommel of the knife he recovered from the south side of the downport he drew it out fully and held it up for her to see.
She peeked from the corner of her eye, unwilling to raise her head from it's comfortable resting place, and seeing the knife her face split in a wide grin.
"There you are," she said in a voice that was softer than was probably healthy, when directed at an inanimate object. She lifted her hand and took the knife from him, then pressed it to her chest like a child would clutch at a doll. "Thank you," she said quietly.
Monday, March 15, 2010
"You with me?" he asks, barely above a murmur.
Title: "Wake up"
Author(s): Gabe Yazimoto and Duncan Cooperstone
Character(s): Gabe, Duncan
Timeline: Current, appr. 3 months ago
Canon: Yes
Warnings: Not-so-subtly implied sexual and violent themes
He's been awake in the semi-dark for a while. Propped up on one arm and, not so much watching her in her sleep as sensing her in her sleep, the curve of her back against his stomach, the feeling of her skin on his, the sound of her breathing, her scent mixed with the accent in the air of their previous lovemaking. Looking at the line of her neck he lowers his head to kiss her shoulder and neck. She tastes like he remembers but each time is like experiencing it for the first time. Holding his breath so as not to disturb her, not until it's the right time, he slides his hand over the curve of her hip, and upwards, flat on her stomach. His other arm she uses like a pillow and he bends his wrist, fingertips tracing downward along her neck. Exhaling slowly he kisses her skin again and lets himself cup one of her breasts from behind.
She awakens with a choked gasp. He wears her out, there's no denying it, and for the past week or so, however much time has passed since that very first time (she can't remember, because somehow it feels like an instant and forever at the same time), she has slept soundly, contently, nearly every night. This one is no different, and it makes the sudden switch from asleep to awake all the more violent. Her belt, her guns, are on the corner of the bed, where they were discarded the previous night in the heat of the moment. She is all instinct, all adrenaline, and she tears away from the embrace. The motion is fluid, rattle-snake fast; she snatches a gun from its holster, rolls back and over him, pinning him down with her left hand. Her right hand presses the muzzle of the gun against his temple, her knuckles whitening. Her body is rigid and she is breathing heavily. Her eyes are wide open, wild, and for a moment there is no recognition in them, none at all.
To say she turns him about is an understatement; and understated as he generally is, it still doesn't come close. For a long while now her turn of phrase, images of her smiling in that way she sometimes does, the line of her neck, the way she moves have all come to his mind. Always unbidden and welcome in equal measure. However this, this was something new. She might not care to admit it, but she's an alpha, her wild, free passion one of things that commanded his inevitable and complete desire and attraction for her; and now, now he sees it in it's purest, most vibrant form. He lies beneath her, his gaze not leaving hers for even a heartbeat. All it would take, the slightest displacement of pressure, a squeeze a fraction of what he expends when he holds her in his arms or when she rises up over him during their coupling. That tiniest exertion from her and his life would be snuffed out right here in their bed. He breathes steadily, slowly his hands drawn up over the cotton sheet beneath, fingertips tracing her toned thighs as he settles his grasp on her hips; he's not entirely submissive to her, not even in this situation. Finally he speaks, eyes still locked with hers, his arctic blue eyes taking on that warm quality reserved for her and a single word fills the silence between them. "Gabe."
It takes a second, maybe two, but they are as long as eternity itself. Her eyes remain open wide but the tension, the expression in them goes from sharp and feral to confused, and then, as she sees him, to something resembling horror. Her right hand sinks down to the bed and she releases her vice-like grip on the gun. Her right arm supports her weight as she lowers her head, her hair falling in her face. She covers her face with her left hand, still breathing heavily, her shoulders trembling. That was close. That was much, much too close.
Quietly, one hand travels effortlessly up along her ribs, only losing contact with her for as long as it takes to sweep her hair away from her face, his fingers curling at the nape of her neck. He knows she's confused, phantom troubles nipping at her. Slowly he lifts himself up to meet her, his other arm crossing her lower back, as his eyes search for hers again. And in the space of a breath he's cradling her in his arms as if protecting her from some unseen shadow. The gravel in his voice soothing and with a warm tone. "You with me?" he asks, barely above a murmur.
She nods her head quickly, unwilling to lower her hand and look at him. Her breathing is starting to slow but her heart is beating a quick staccato in her chest still, and she shivers. "... yes," she replies, her voice hoarse. Yes, she's with him. She's present now, but she feels like screaming, and her right hand tightens for a moment around the muzzle of the gun, squeezing so hard the edges threaten to cut into her hand. She is still tense, unwilling to yield to his embrace.
Despite her assurance, she's not, not really. He doesn't pull her to him, just stays there, well within her reach. His head lowers a little, quirked a little to the side. "You're not alone any more..." His voice is still quiet, constant, immovable like the rocks of the earth beneath them. "Not any more..." he says again. "Wherever you find yourself, whatever the distance or the difficulty, you speak the word and I'll always be there for you..." He knows his words are possibility not getting through to her but it's all he can do to give her something to think on other than the dark edge she was teetering over.
She looks at him then, her eyes big and wide and almost a little sad. She nods again, quickly, and touches the sides of his face. Gently at first, fingertips barely brushing his skin, then with more purpose, more intent, until her touch is almost frantic. It's like she needs to know he's there, feel him, really feel him, and her dipping her head and kissing his mouth hard is merely an extension of that, a natural progression.
There's no reluctance, no need for him to dissect the course of events, to draw out what was plaguing her. When she was ready, wanted to, would allow herself to realise that he would be constant and steadfast for her, then she would. His trust for her is implicit, he'd follow her to hell and kick in the devil's door. Without thought or reservation he's altogether comfortable, more than that, he feels reassured, maybe even protected by her. There's no question in his mind about putting his life in her hands. As he eases into her embrace at first, developing into kissing her as desperately as she does him. Each time his lips are crushed to hers it is like the first time and yet having that indefinable familiarity.
She won't apologize with words, never been one for that, not even way back when, but the way she kisses him, the way her hands touch his skin and her thighs hug his waist might as well be an apology. Her muscles are aching from the previous, sudden tension, and she wants, no, craves his hands on her, working out the kinks, and eventually rendering her limbs soft and pliant. Not right now, though, right now she's like a predator, coiled up for the leap, and the kiss is ungentle, urgent, her teeth nipping his lip more than once. It's a kiss with a purpose, and as he sinks back down against the mattress, she follows, all too eager to forget and lose herself in him.
Author(s): Gabe Yazimoto and Duncan Cooperstone
Character(s): Gabe, Duncan
Timeline: Current, appr. 3 months ago
Canon: Yes
Warnings: Not-so-subtly implied sexual and violent themes
He's been awake in the semi-dark for a while. Propped up on one arm and, not so much watching her in her sleep as sensing her in her sleep, the curve of her back against his stomach, the feeling of her skin on his, the sound of her breathing, her scent mixed with the accent in the air of their previous lovemaking. Looking at the line of her neck he lowers his head to kiss her shoulder and neck. She tastes like he remembers but each time is like experiencing it for the first time. Holding his breath so as not to disturb her, not until it's the right time, he slides his hand over the curve of her hip, and upwards, flat on her stomach. His other arm she uses like a pillow and he bends his wrist, fingertips tracing downward along her neck. Exhaling slowly he kisses her skin again and lets himself cup one of her breasts from behind.
She awakens with a choked gasp. He wears her out, there's no denying it, and for the past week or so, however much time has passed since that very first time (she can't remember, because somehow it feels like an instant and forever at the same time), she has slept soundly, contently, nearly every night. This one is no different, and it makes the sudden switch from asleep to awake all the more violent. Her belt, her guns, are on the corner of the bed, where they were discarded the previous night in the heat of the moment. She is all instinct, all adrenaline, and she tears away from the embrace. The motion is fluid, rattle-snake fast; she snatches a gun from its holster, rolls back and over him, pinning him down with her left hand. Her right hand presses the muzzle of the gun against his temple, her knuckles whitening. Her body is rigid and she is breathing heavily. Her eyes are wide open, wild, and for a moment there is no recognition in them, none at all.
To say she turns him about is an understatement; and understated as he generally is, it still doesn't come close. For a long while now her turn of phrase, images of her smiling in that way she sometimes does, the line of her neck, the way she moves have all come to his mind. Always unbidden and welcome in equal measure. However this, this was something new. She might not care to admit it, but she's an alpha, her wild, free passion one of things that commanded his inevitable and complete desire and attraction for her; and now, now he sees it in it's purest, most vibrant form. He lies beneath her, his gaze not leaving hers for even a heartbeat. All it would take, the slightest displacement of pressure, a squeeze a fraction of what he expends when he holds her in his arms or when she rises up over him during their coupling. That tiniest exertion from her and his life would be snuffed out right here in their bed. He breathes steadily, slowly his hands drawn up over the cotton sheet beneath, fingertips tracing her toned thighs as he settles his grasp on her hips; he's not entirely submissive to her, not even in this situation. Finally he speaks, eyes still locked with hers, his arctic blue eyes taking on that warm quality reserved for her and a single word fills the silence between them. "Gabe."
It takes a second, maybe two, but they are as long as eternity itself. Her eyes remain open wide but the tension, the expression in them goes from sharp and feral to confused, and then, as she sees him, to something resembling horror. Her right hand sinks down to the bed and she releases her vice-like grip on the gun. Her right arm supports her weight as she lowers her head, her hair falling in her face. She covers her face with her left hand, still breathing heavily, her shoulders trembling. That was close. That was much, much too close.
Quietly, one hand travels effortlessly up along her ribs, only losing contact with her for as long as it takes to sweep her hair away from her face, his fingers curling at the nape of her neck. He knows she's confused, phantom troubles nipping at her. Slowly he lifts himself up to meet her, his other arm crossing her lower back, as his eyes search for hers again. And in the space of a breath he's cradling her in his arms as if protecting her from some unseen shadow. The gravel in his voice soothing and with a warm tone. "You with me?" he asks, barely above a murmur.
She nods her head quickly, unwilling to lower her hand and look at him. Her breathing is starting to slow but her heart is beating a quick staccato in her chest still, and she shivers. "... yes," she replies, her voice hoarse. Yes, she's with him. She's present now, but she feels like screaming, and her right hand tightens for a moment around the muzzle of the gun, squeezing so hard the edges threaten to cut into her hand. She is still tense, unwilling to yield to his embrace.
Despite her assurance, she's not, not really. He doesn't pull her to him, just stays there, well within her reach. His head lowers a little, quirked a little to the side. "You're not alone any more..." His voice is still quiet, constant, immovable like the rocks of the earth beneath them. "Not any more..." he says again. "Wherever you find yourself, whatever the distance or the difficulty, you speak the word and I'll always be there for you..." He knows his words are possibility not getting through to her but it's all he can do to give her something to think on other than the dark edge she was teetering over.
She looks at him then, her eyes big and wide and almost a little sad. She nods again, quickly, and touches the sides of his face. Gently at first, fingertips barely brushing his skin, then with more purpose, more intent, until her touch is almost frantic. It's like she needs to know he's there, feel him, really feel him, and her dipping her head and kissing his mouth hard is merely an extension of that, a natural progression.
There's no reluctance, no need for him to dissect the course of events, to draw out what was plaguing her. When she was ready, wanted to, would allow herself to realise that he would be constant and steadfast for her, then she would. His trust for her is implicit, he'd follow her to hell and kick in the devil's door. Without thought or reservation he's altogether comfortable, more than that, he feels reassured, maybe even protected by her. There's no question in his mind about putting his life in her hands. As he eases into her embrace at first, developing into kissing her as desperately as she does him. Each time his lips are crushed to hers it is like the first time and yet having that indefinable familiarity.
She won't apologize with words, never been one for that, not even way back when, but the way she kisses him, the way her hands touch his skin and her thighs hug his waist might as well be an apology. Her muscles are aching from the previous, sudden tension, and she wants, no, craves his hands on her, working out the kinks, and eventually rendering her limbs soft and pliant. Not right now, though, right now she's like a predator, coiled up for the leap, and the kiss is ungentle, urgent, her teeth nipping his lip more than once. It's a kiss with a purpose, and as he sinks back down against the mattress, she follows, all too eager to forget and lose herself in him.
"Fella tried to make dinner outta him." Pause, page-turn. "I didn't like that."
Title: "Dog"
Author(s): Gabe Yazimoto and Duncan Cooperstone
Character(s): Gabe, Duncan, Dog
Timeline: Current
Canon: Yes
Warnings: None
Gabe was reading a book. While this might be cause for alarm for anyone who knew her, that was what she was doing. Being dirt-side, the ship was quiet, save for the little noises, the little signs that the ship was, in its own way, a living, breathing thing. The occasional puff of air from a vent. The metallic creak from the catwalk around the cargo hold. The ticking of a clock.
Gabe turned to the next page. Lots of pictures in this book, not so much with the text. The pictures were of guns, old ones, antiques. She acquired the book during a trade the week before, it was included in the bargain. Or, it bloody well should have been, which is why she liberated it from the shelf it had been laying on in the buyer's office, dusty and forgotten.
Duncan was out making some sort of deal on fuel, and she'd been there for the initial haggling, but when Duncan and the supplier started swapping war stories, she left to wander about the docks for a bit. And now she was home, reading her new book. She was in the galley, sitting at the short end of the table, a cup of green tea in a chipped cup next to her. She was leaned back in the chair, one foot propped up against the table, the other resting on the chair next to her. She turned another page, smiling to herself. Under the table, the big dog, that looked like a shepherd but probably just by sheer chance and a fortunate roll of the dice of genetics, shifted from laying on one haunch over to the other, put his head down and sighed a deep doggie-sigh.
Duncan's hands were thrust into his pockets as his legs carried him over the dirty sidetracks from the fuel merchants bazaar. The bustle of downtown Eavesdown was always one he enjoyed. Street sellers, desperately out-shouting the one next to them, peddling their wares. A wide variety of people, from all walks and places. The incongruously well dressed standing out just as much as the people travelling with every belonging they own in the 'Verse carried along with them and moving from berth to berth exchanging disappointed and concerned looks when the prices posted on the terminal for each docked ship are clearly more than they expected and, most like, more than they had. And at that point, prices were foremost in his mind.
The agent had given him a good price, no doubt about that. The man had taken one look at the, in places, threadbare coat he wore and had come right out and asked where he'd fought, under who, how long was he locked up in the camps. Normally, while he made no secret about serving, he didn't discuss it too much. But it seemed that on this occasion the shared history secured a favourable rate for the 30 tonnes of fuel he'd paid for. He pushed away his annoyance about how the price was better on Whittier, or how Jai Raghilda had promised a full 60 tonnes as payment for a forthcoming job, but that was the thing about forthcoming. It wasn't here and now and in order to get out of the world to where they needed to be to actually do said job, required refuelling.
The deal was done and the money spent. He made his way through the traders, passengers, merchants, pan handlers and the associated mix of streetwalkers, pick pockets and hired muscle bustling and going about their business on the street level. As soon as the bridge of Raivenn hovered into view towering above them all, his mood was better, he was even whistling that same tune, albeit tunelessly, that he long ago forgot all the words to.
The main ramp was lowered and as he crossed the threshold of the hatchway he considered calling out to her, to see if she was home from her own morning's trading. Grills and deckplates rattled under him as he climbed the stairs past the empty passenger dorm to the galley. When he entered he couldn't help smile a little seeing the tea bowl on the table beside her, he head bowed over the book. Slowly he took a step forward and as he was about to ask about the book she was so intently following his lips betrayed him as soon as out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of the dog, who in its turn sat upright, ears perked up in front of him.
"Gabe.." The dog sat up fully, front legs straight. "Care to shed some light as to your friend here?"
She looked up for a moment, giving him one of her Looks. "It's a dog," she said in an obvious tone of voice, and looked down at her book again. Under the table, the dog began to growl deep in his throat, the hackles on his back slowly rising.
"That's a fact." It wasn't a question. With thumbs hooked in his belt he continued in the same tone she'd given him. "An' is this a payin' dog, or is he here for some other reason I ain't havin' the wherewithall to grasp as yet?" Before she had a chance to answer he jerked his head in the direction of the animal. "An' you can stow that, with a quickness," he offered in response to its still present low-growling greeting.
The dog stopped growling, but its hackles were still standing on end, and it didn't take its eyes off the large human. Gabe just shrugged a little and turned a page in her book.
"Fella tried to make dinner outta him." Pause, page-turn. "I didn't like that."
If 'shrugging' a chin was the correct term, then that was how best to describe the characteristic way Duncan gestured in that 'fair enough' way. He'd eaten dog, of course, and just about a whole range of different meats and what was supposed to pass for it at one stage or another. That said there was a big difference when you've had occasion to make the acquaintance of your dinner. "Can't say as I blame you, so where's he going?"
Gabe folded in one corner of the current page, closed the book, then looked up at Duncan's face.
"He's comin' with us," she said brightly, flashing him a wide smile. "Can't let him run out there again, that fella'll only find him and eat him up, well, once his mouth heals up, anyway."
She took her feet off the table and leaned forward, reaching down to roughly pet the dog's side. The dog turned his head towards her, his tail thumping against the floor. "Ain't that right, boy?" she said in what could most accurately be described as a tone best suited for nurserys. "That big mean man had to pick his teeth up off'a the ground, didn't he?"
In the morning, or some other future point, Duncan Cooperstone would look back and admit from the moment he walked into the galley, and laid eyes on the dog, her saying that they'd be taking the dog in was an absolute certainty. Not that he minded, far from it, just never really considered it before.
"Uh hmmm." He took a step closer, and without realising it mirrored the way the dog quirked its head to one side as it looked back at him.
"Yep," she said and leaned back in her seat again, grinning up at him. "So, did you get a good deal or did you forget about it, reminiscing about old times?"
After a moment longer Duncan looked away from the dog. "Weren't hardly like we were heftin' beers an' exchangin' stories about spillin' the same blood in the same mud... but yeah, we got us fuel enough to get out of the world an' hop across Al Raqis ways 'fore headin' on toward Hale's Moon and MacLaren's." He caught sight of her grin and fought hard to the urge to do the same as he rested a hip against the table top.
"Shiny." She nodded and reached out to pick up the tea bowl, taking a sip before setting it down again. The tea had gone cold and she made a slight face. "And nothin' on the Cortex 'bout no crate marked '16' or nothin'? No bulletins?"
Under the table, the dog had lay down again, his head resting on his paws, his eyebrows twitching this way and that as he followed their voices. Duncan shook his head, admittedly surprised and glad in equal measure there had been no mention on local or broad wave nets of their recent cargo hauling job.
"Seems for one time Podwangler was right, a milk run's a milk run an' I ain't about to question it none too closely." He glanced toward the lockers. "You get everythign you were after?"
She nodded again. "Yep. All stocked up and good to go." She smiled and nodded towards the kitchenette. "There's more tea in the kettle if you want some."
As always he picked up her tea bowl and discarded the almost cold remainder of her tea before drawing a fresh bowl for both of them and as he returned to the table caught sight of the dog again who for his part had followed Duncan's movement to and fro intently.
"Canny lookin' fella," he said from behind the steam rising from his bowl.
"I know," she said, adding a short 'thanks' as she took her refilled bowl in both hands and set it down on the table. "Listens good, too. S'a good dog."
"Mayhaps he can be put to work," he stated simply. The irony was that over the years he'd taken in more than his fair share of waifs and strays. The two legged variety. Who at first inspection would have no real value or skillset to offer towards the overall running of the ship. He never did, nor would have, turned them out for that fact and a good number of them learned fast and became invaluable. Still, he was the captain and a captain's got to maintain a veneer of being stern even if those who know better realised in his case that veneer didn't run too deeply.
"Maybe," she agreed with a shrug and picked up her book, flipping it open to the marked page. She was silent for a goodish while, then, "Had a dog when I was a kid. Used to chase off the bully lived in the next house up the road. And kill off our chickens. Lord, my daddy was so mad..." She chuckled and smiled to herself, her eyes not leaving the open book.
Duncan reclined a little and the wooden cheair creaked slowly, tired of being abused in the same way over the years. Having set the bowl down he laced his fingers behind his head and listened to her. It was the first time, to his memory, that she'd ever spoken about her home and her family. He sat and listened quietly as she painted this picture for him, his eyes warm.
Pausing, she flipped the page, running the tips of her fingers over one of the illustrations. "He bit that bèn zhuō Lawry boy one time, right in the asscheek as he was runnin' away." She grinned widely to herself at the memory. "Lǎo tiān yě, I loved that dog."
He found himself smiling too, not that whenever those grey and hazel eyes of hers sparkled they way the did, like they were right at that moment, he could really help himself. This time, however, there was something different about her and he knew he was seeing a side of her no one else, except those who knew her and loved her in that world she was describing, had ever seen.
"Guess he was more of cat person," he gravelled a little quietly, still smiling that smile that was hers alone before tapping his hand on his thigh. In response the sound of the dog's paws on the deckplate seemed to eclipse the sound of the ship as it got up and padded toward him and as soon as it was close enough he scratched behind the animal's ears.
She looked up as she heard the click of claws on metal and watched him pet the dog. Watching him when he wasn't watching her was one of her favourite things to do, she'd discovered... the shape of his face, the lines and minute movements of it, all capable of expressing a thousand and one different emotions, emotions sometimes she was sure only she could see. "You ever have a dog?" she asked.
He nodded, smiling a little and still looking down at the dark eyes below him. He was already thinking about it before she asked, so as soon as the question reached him a short laugh escaped him.
"Well.. " he began, glancing over toward her, stopping for a second as he thought he caught a look in her eye, but if it was there it eluded him as quickly as he thought he detected it.
"...you know, I grew up in Libertia, well 'course on a ranch there's always dogs... but there was one day I was 'bout maybe ten or eleven, my old man..." At that point his brows knitted together as he looked over to her and added, "He weren't a rancher though." As if that made any difference to the recollection. "But this one day he let me go into town 'long with one of the hands on the big ranch we lived on..."
As he began to take his hand back from the dog it laid its chin against his thigh, as if urging him to continue with the attention, which in return without thinking about it, he did.
"Well, Colby, he was off doing whatever an' I was in the main street when this kid appears... right in front of me, little grey pup in her hands and askes me to hold onto it for her, so I figure she maybe wanted to take her coat off or somesuch." He looked down, his fingertips digging through the dogs fur.
"And gorramnit if she didn't just lit on outta there like she stole somethin' expensive. When Colby came back he laughed all the way back to ranch, said he'd pay cash money to be there when I told my old man 'bout it all." He laughed again, then trailed off a little quietly, sniffed and cleared his throat. "This boy here needs a name."
She laughed as he told the story, already chuckling a little before he came to the punchline, anticipating the outcome. The smile kinda melted off her face, though, as he trailed off, her expression matching his. She glanced at the dog and shrugged a little. "You think so?" She squinted a little. "Then I name him Dog. Easy enough to remember."
"Dog," he nodded in agreement. "Leastways he'll not get confused hisownself." He looked back over toward her. "Dog's good."
"Dog is it, then." She grinned. "Come here, Dog," she said and snapped her fingers. Dog, previously known as the dog, padded over to her and sat down in front of her, long pink tongue lolling out. She grinned again and scratched the underside of his snout.
Author(s): Gabe Yazimoto and Duncan Cooperstone
Character(s): Gabe, Duncan, Dog
Timeline: Current
Canon: Yes
Warnings: None
Gabe was reading a book. While this might be cause for alarm for anyone who knew her, that was what she was doing. Being dirt-side, the ship was quiet, save for the little noises, the little signs that the ship was, in its own way, a living, breathing thing. The occasional puff of air from a vent. The metallic creak from the catwalk around the cargo hold. The ticking of a clock.
Gabe turned to the next page. Lots of pictures in this book, not so much with the text. The pictures were of guns, old ones, antiques. She acquired the book during a trade the week before, it was included in the bargain. Or, it bloody well should have been, which is why she liberated it from the shelf it had been laying on in the buyer's office, dusty and forgotten.
Duncan was out making some sort of deal on fuel, and she'd been there for the initial haggling, but when Duncan and the supplier started swapping war stories, she left to wander about the docks for a bit. And now she was home, reading her new book. She was in the galley, sitting at the short end of the table, a cup of green tea in a chipped cup next to her. She was leaned back in the chair, one foot propped up against the table, the other resting on the chair next to her. She turned another page, smiling to herself. Under the table, the big dog, that looked like a shepherd but probably just by sheer chance and a fortunate roll of the dice of genetics, shifted from laying on one haunch over to the other, put his head down and sighed a deep doggie-sigh.
Duncan's hands were thrust into his pockets as his legs carried him over the dirty sidetracks from the fuel merchants bazaar. The bustle of downtown Eavesdown was always one he enjoyed. Street sellers, desperately out-shouting the one next to them, peddling their wares. A wide variety of people, from all walks and places. The incongruously well dressed standing out just as much as the people travelling with every belonging they own in the 'Verse carried along with them and moving from berth to berth exchanging disappointed and concerned looks when the prices posted on the terminal for each docked ship are clearly more than they expected and, most like, more than they had. And at that point, prices were foremost in his mind.
The agent had given him a good price, no doubt about that. The man had taken one look at the, in places, threadbare coat he wore and had come right out and asked where he'd fought, under who, how long was he locked up in the camps. Normally, while he made no secret about serving, he didn't discuss it too much. But it seemed that on this occasion the shared history secured a favourable rate for the 30 tonnes of fuel he'd paid for. He pushed away his annoyance about how the price was better on Whittier, or how Jai Raghilda had promised a full 60 tonnes as payment for a forthcoming job, but that was the thing about forthcoming. It wasn't here and now and in order to get out of the world to where they needed to be to actually do said job, required refuelling.
The deal was done and the money spent. He made his way through the traders, passengers, merchants, pan handlers and the associated mix of streetwalkers, pick pockets and hired muscle bustling and going about their business on the street level. As soon as the bridge of Raivenn hovered into view towering above them all, his mood was better, he was even whistling that same tune, albeit tunelessly, that he long ago forgot all the words to.
The main ramp was lowered and as he crossed the threshold of the hatchway he considered calling out to her, to see if she was home from her own morning's trading. Grills and deckplates rattled under him as he climbed the stairs past the empty passenger dorm to the galley. When he entered he couldn't help smile a little seeing the tea bowl on the table beside her, he head bowed over the book. Slowly he took a step forward and as he was about to ask about the book she was so intently following his lips betrayed him as soon as out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of the dog, who in its turn sat upright, ears perked up in front of him.
"Gabe.." The dog sat up fully, front legs straight. "Care to shed some light as to your friend here?"
She looked up for a moment, giving him one of her Looks. "It's a dog," she said in an obvious tone of voice, and looked down at her book again. Under the table, the dog began to growl deep in his throat, the hackles on his back slowly rising.
"That's a fact." It wasn't a question. With thumbs hooked in his belt he continued in the same tone she'd given him. "An' is this a payin' dog, or is he here for some other reason I ain't havin' the wherewithall to grasp as yet?" Before she had a chance to answer he jerked his head in the direction of the animal. "An' you can stow that, with a quickness," he offered in response to its still present low-growling greeting.
The dog stopped growling, but its hackles were still standing on end, and it didn't take its eyes off the large human. Gabe just shrugged a little and turned a page in her book.
"Fella tried to make dinner outta him." Pause, page-turn. "I didn't like that."
If 'shrugging' a chin was the correct term, then that was how best to describe the characteristic way Duncan gestured in that 'fair enough' way. He'd eaten dog, of course, and just about a whole range of different meats and what was supposed to pass for it at one stage or another. That said there was a big difference when you've had occasion to make the acquaintance of your dinner. "Can't say as I blame you, so where's he going?"
Gabe folded in one corner of the current page, closed the book, then looked up at Duncan's face.
"He's comin' with us," she said brightly, flashing him a wide smile. "Can't let him run out there again, that fella'll only find him and eat him up, well, once his mouth heals up, anyway."
She took her feet off the table and leaned forward, reaching down to roughly pet the dog's side. The dog turned his head towards her, his tail thumping against the floor. "Ain't that right, boy?" she said in what could most accurately be described as a tone best suited for nurserys. "That big mean man had to pick his teeth up off'a the ground, didn't he?"
In the morning, or some other future point, Duncan Cooperstone would look back and admit from the moment he walked into the galley, and laid eyes on the dog, her saying that they'd be taking the dog in was an absolute certainty. Not that he minded, far from it, just never really considered it before.
"Uh hmmm." He took a step closer, and without realising it mirrored the way the dog quirked its head to one side as it looked back at him.
"Yep," she said and leaned back in her seat again, grinning up at him. "So, did you get a good deal or did you forget about it, reminiscing about old times?"
After a moment longer Duncan looked away from the dog. "Weren't hardly like we were heftin' beers an' exchangin' stories about spillin' the same blood in the same mud... but yeah, we got us fuel enough to get out of the world an' hop across Al Raqis ways 'fore headin' on toward Hale's Moon and MacLaren's." He caught sight of her grin and fought hard to the urge to do the same as he rested a hip against the table top.
"Shiny." She nodded and reached out to pick up the tea bowl, taking a sip before setting it down again. The tea had gone cold and she made a slight face. "And nothin' on the Cortex 'bout no crate marked '16' or nothin'? No bulletins?"
Under the table, the dog had lay down again, his head resting on his paws, his eyebrows twitching this way and that as he followed their voices. Duncan shook his head, admittedly surprised and glad in equal measure there had been no mention on local or broad wave nets of their recent cargo hauling job.
"Seems for one time Podwangler was right, a milk run's a milk run an' I ain't about to question it none too closely." He glanced toward the lockers. "You get everythign you were after?"
She nodded again. "Yep. All stocked up and good to go." She smiled and nodded towards the kitchenette. "There's more tea in the kettle if you want some."
As always he picked up her tea bowl and discarded the almost cold remainder of her tea before drawing a fresh bowl for both of them and as he returned to the table caught sight of the dog again who for his part had followed Duncan's movement to and fro intently.
"Canny lookin' fella," he said from behind the steam rising from his bowl.
"I know," she said, adding a short 'thanks' as she took her refilled bowl in both hands and set it down on the table. "Listens good, too. S'a good dog."
"Mayhaps he can be put to work," he stated simply. The irony was that over the years he'd taken in more than his fair share of waifs and strays. The two legged variety. Who at first inspection would have no real value or skillset to offer towards the overall running of the ship. He never did, nor would have, turned them out for that fact and a good number of them learned fast and became invaluable. Still, he was the captain and a captain's got to maintain a veneer of being stern even if those who know better realised in his case that veneer didn't run too deeply.
"Maybe," she agreed with a shrug and picked up her book, flipping it open to the marked page. She was silent for a goodish while, then, "Had a dog when I was a kid. Used to chase off the bully lived in the next house up the road. And kill off our chickens. Lord, my daddy was so mad..." She chuckled and smiled to herself, her eyes not leaving the open book.
Duncan reclined a little and the wooden cheair creaked slowly, tired of being abused in the same way over the years. Having set the bowl down he laced his fingers behind his head and listened to her. It was the first time, to his memory, that she'd ever spoken about her home and her family. He sat and listened quietly as she painted this picture for him, his eyes warm.
Pausing, she flipped the page, running the tips of her fingers over one of the illustrations. "He bit that bèn zhuō Lawry boy one time, right in the asscheek as he was runnin' away." She grinned widely to herself at the memory. "Lǎo tiān yě, I loved that dog."
He found himself smiling too, not that whenever those grey and hazel eyes of hers sparkled they way the did, like they were right at that moment, he could really help himself. This time, however, there was something different about her and he knew he was seeing a side of her no one else, except those who knew her and loved her in that world she was describing, had ever seen.
"Guess he was more of cat person," he gravelled a little quietly, still smiling that smile that was hers alone before tapping his hand on his thigh. In response the sound of the dog's paws on the deckplate seemed to eclipse the sound of the ship as it got up and padded toward him and as soon as it was close enough he scratched behind the animal's ears.
She looked up as she heard the click of claws on metal and watched him pet the dog. Watching him when he wasn't watching her was one of her favourite things to do, she'd discovered... the shape of his face, the lines and minute movements of it, all capable of expressing a thousand and one different emotions, emotions sometimes she was sure only she could see. "You ever have a dog?" she asked.
He nodded, smiling a little and still looking down at the dark eyes below him. He was already thinking about it before she asked, so as soon as the question reached him a short laugh escaped him.
"Well.. " he began, glancing over toward her, stopping for a second as he thought he caught a look in her eye, but if it was there it eluded him as quickly as he thought he detected it.
"...you know, I grew up in Libertia, well 'course on a ranch there's always dogs... but there was one day I was 'bout maybe ten or eleven, my old man..." At that point his brows knitted together as he looked over to her and added, "He weren't a rancher though." As if that made any difference to the recollection. "But this one day he let me go into town 'long with one of the hands on the big ranch we lived on..."
As he began to take his hand back from the dog it laid its chin against his thigh, as if urging him to continue with the attention, which in return without thinking about it, he did.
"Well, Colby, he was off doing whatever an' I was in the main street when this kid appears... right in front of me, little grey pup in her hands and askes me to hold onto it for her, so I figure she maybe wanted to take her coat off or somesuch." He looked down, his fingertips digging through the dogs fur.
"And gorramnit if she didn't just lit on outta there like she stole somethin' expensive. When Colby came back he laughed all the way back to ranch, said he'd pay cash money to be there when I told my old man 'bout it all." He laughed again, then trailed off a little quietly, sniffed and cleared his throat. "This boy here needs a name."
She laughed as he told the story, already chuckling a little before he came to the punchline, anticipating the outcome. The smile kinda melted off her face, though, as he trailed off, her expression matching his. She glanced at the dog and shrugged a little. "You think so?" She squinted a little. "Then I name him Dog. Easy enough to remember."
"Dog," he nodded in agreement. "Leastways he'll not get confused hisownself." He looked back over toward her. "Dog's good."
"Dog is it, then." She grinned. "Come here, Dog," she said and snapped her fingers. Dog, previously known as the dog, padded over to her and sat down in front of her, long pink tongue lolling out. She grinned again and scratched the underside of his snout.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
"For the woman, sir," he said in a clipped tone. "Did you pay money for the woman?
Title: Close call
Author(s): Gabe Yazimoto and Duncan Cooperstone
Character(s): Gabe, Duncan
Timeline: Current
Canon: Yes
Warnings: None
The sun was being particularly merciless that day, and as Gabe straightened her back and rolled her shoulders, she was red-faced and sweaty, her hair clinging to her forehead, and her shirt to her back. "... liáng shuí," she panted and walked up the loading ramp to where a bottle of water sat in the shade.
Loading crates was part of the gig, had always been, but that didn't mean it was the most enjoyable of tasks. Normally the mule (which was to say, Duncan) handled the actual moving from outside to inside or the other way around, but since the gorram thing had decided to take some unscheduled downtime, kicked the bucket, so to speak, it was down to manual labour. The fence had dumped the pallet outside the ship and been on his merry way, and the things had to get inside Raivenn somehow, right?
And so the sun of MacLaren's Drift was beating down on both their backs as they, on their own and with joint efforts, hauled crates filled with goods that really were a smidge too hot to be handled. Gabe unscrewed the cap of the water bottle and put the bottle to her lips, drinking down large mouthfuls with her head tilted back, relishing in the coolness of it. Some of it escaped the corners of her mouth and trickled down her chin and her neck, but it weren't like she minded. Extra relief, after all.
Eventually she lowered the bottle and, after replacing the cap, wiped her mouth, then her forehead. They really didn't have a lot of time to spare, the buyer was expecting them at the end of the week, at the other end of the Verse, but she figured she deserved a minute or two in the shade. She leaned against the side of the doors and looked out at Duncan, still hard at work. Around half of the heavy crates were inside Raivenn's cargo hold already, which unfortunately meant that half of it was still outside, baking in the sun.
"We makin' good time?" she asked.
Feet a shoulder width apart Duncan set his hands to the next crate. Sometimes he wondered why whoever designed these things had to make them just that bit too wide. A little narrower would mean his arms wouldn't be stretched as much and he'd be able to exert more pressure on the awkward cube. His hair was matted and the sweat stung his eyes as he blinked, even in the middle of the day his eyes needed to adjust to the artificial yellow glow of the cargo hold compared with the unrelenting glare of MacLaren's sun. Hefting the crate into place and breathing heavily he reached for the bandanna he usually kept knotted loosely round his neck and then scolded himself inwardly for forgetting, again, it was no longer there. "We're making time," he answered, even his breath seemed too warm, "Happen we'll pick up some of what we lost when we get out in the black." Walking over to Gabe he accepted the offered bottle. "We got the back of this broke now anyhow." Pointing with his chin toward the remaining crates he raked his fingers through his thick, wet hair before taking a deep draught.
Gabe ran her hand down his arm to rest for a moment at the crook of his elbow, fingers squeezing a little. "Yeah," she said and took the bottle from him, taking another mouthful, then put it back on a crate. "Wouldn't hate a break," she mumbled, knowing full-well that it weren't gonna fly. They were on a tight schedule as it was. She looked out at the remaining crates, then lifted her gaze a little. Her stomach dropped, and her eyes widened a little, then narrowed.
Crossing the bridge from the town was a small group of men and women, all clad in black and purple armour. As they reached the bank they formed a semi-circle, one man obviously talking and pointing, and then the armoured and armed men and women spread out in groups of two, each group heading for a vessel. One such group was walking their way.
"... oh, gorrammit," she muttered.
Duncan followed her gaze. Not his best day ever. Ship parts were fairly innocuous in most quarters. Not so much on MacLaren's Drift, where, a good mechanic was rarer than an honest man on Eavesdown. Even a barely competent one wasn't easy to come by on this dustbowl. And there they were, crate after crate of impellar bearings, engine gaskets and fuel filters. Insured, no doubt, after all that's how the legitimate haulier maintained his contract with the suppliers. Sign on to haul a cargo for a corporate outfit, some gets misplaced or damaged in transit, the insurance pays out and everyone's happy. Especially the on-the-surface reputable cargo company captain who, mid-leg, stops off at any number of quiet and lawless moons like MacLaren's and finds an opportunistic type who'll help some of that same cargo get misplaced, right into the hold of their ship in return for a quick pay off. Everything goes smoothly and the captain who ends up with the soon to be insurance write-off goods takes them off world and finds a buyer. Something goes wrong? Well, the corporate haulier is on his merry, with the money in his pocket and it's all on that opportunistic soul to deal with the fall out.
Duncan Cooperstone was such an opportunistic man, he had to be, and now he was stood, hip resting against a crate of parts that had be acquired in that exact manner, the rest not even loaded yet. Their mule lay beached and sputtering outside, they were falling behind time with a pair of Feds closing fast. And it was gorramn hot. Not his best day ever, for certain and for sure. He nodded a little and picked the bottle back up from where it sat, stepping out towards the bright, white daylight and the approaching troopers. Not taking his eyes from their ingress he gravelled "Stay frosty" as he passed her.
Frosty? Now, that weren't how one would describe Gabe's usual disposition, and with the weather being the way it was? Good luck with that, Captain. Gabe clenched her jaw and stalked after him, a few steps behind, not taking her eyes off the troopers either.
"Good afternoon, sir, ma'am," said one of the troopers as they got close enough. His name was Corporal Cray, and he was a long way from home. A tall fair man with a thin moustache that looked like it couldn't be bothered, he was stationed at Unity Barracks, Persephone. They had recently been tasked with running ident-check and cargo inspection assignments to the rim planets, however, and if he could be anywhere in the Verse other than here? He would be. There was no arguing with orders, however, and more to the point, there was no arguing with the Sarge.
"Just standard inspection. Is this your vessel, sir?" Corporal Cray glanced up at the towering ship. Looked like a flying scrapyard to him, but, he didn't have to fly in it, did he?
"Afternoon! And can I just say what sight for sore eyes y'all are." Anyone who was listening would possibly describe Duncan's tone as bright, grateful even. Anyone who was listening who actually knew him would understand just how incongruous that was. Duncan stepped down onto the gang ramp, the thumb of his free hand pulling the strap of his suspenders back onto his shoulders from where it had been hanging loose.
"Yessir!" he continued, the chirp in his tone muted only by his rough sounding voice "I was just saying the other day..." Frowning with confusion he turned toward Gabe. "Were it yesterday or the day 'fore? When I was just sayin' these parts don't see enough law an' order?" He had to look away, if his eyes stayed on her a moment longer he knew a smile would crease his features and so he faced the troopers again. "You know this place don't even have a sheriff nor nothin', it's plain dangerous for honest folk to--" The cough was rough. He made it sound like a bag of glass bottles had been dropped on a concrete street as he stepped forward toward the troopers some more, almost bent double as he rasped and hacked. When he straightened up, red-faced, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and, pulling the cap from Gabe's bottle, took a long drink. Finally, almost as an afterthought he pulled the bottle from his lips and offered it toward the upright trooper. "Drink?"
The act was so convincing that Gabe had to consciously restrain herself from stepping up to Duncan and pat his back. Just for a moment, though, then her hand shot up and rubbed over her mouth to hide a quick grin. When it was schooled off her face again, she hooked her thumbs inside her belt and shifted her weight from one leg to the other. "That's what you said, Captain," she said lowly.
Corporal Cray stared at the coughing man and just barely managed to keep from taking a step back. This is great, this is just excellent, he thought to himself. Not only is this place hot, dusty and downright insanitary, they got a sickness as well. Luckily, expeditions to the rim required special equipment.
"Masks," Cray said and looked at his companion. He flicked open a compartment on his belt and pulled out a thin protective mask which he placed over his mouth, pinching it over the nose to keep it in place. Feeling a bit more at ease, he turned back towards the coughing man.
"Now, sir," Cray said. "You did not answer my question. Is this your vessel?"
Trooper First Class Downey fitted his particle mask in place and glanced between the man, his ship and the woman shuffling her feet. "Rim rats," he muttered quietly beneath his mask as he peered into the belly of the old cargo hauler. Even from the outside, corroded boltheads and pipework with residue stains were clearly visible. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and adjusted the sling for his weapon. These routine patrol stops annoyed him. 'See the 'Verse'? So far he'd seen a dozen dust balls, or half frozen or anywhere in between half-developed worlds. All of them dung piles and none of them the green rolling hills of Shinon like the recruiting desk sergeant had said.
Resting his elbows against the nearest packing crate Duncan nodded. "That she be, bought an' paid for." He gestured over his shoulder. "Mite rough 'round the edges an' the containment's a touch suspect... oh, an' of course we only just found out the septic storage's been leaking effluent into the fresh water tanks... but she serves."
Corporal Cray wrinkled his nose behind the mask. That people could stand to live like that was beyond his comprehension.
"Very well, sir," Cray said, keeping most of the disgust he felt out of his voice. "Registration documents and ident cards, if you please, sir. You too, ma'am," he said, nodding at the woman as he produced an ident card reader from his belt.
Gabe gritted her teeth and took a step forward. "I ain't your gorram 'ma'am'--" she started.
Downey started a little as the one he discerned to be the ship's captain clapped his hands together loudly. "Ain't she a firecracker?"
Downey looked over at the woman and then back to the Captain as another bout of hard coughing seized the man.
Duncan patted his chest hard grunting a little at the same time as if the cough was troubling him, as it would be if he really were as disease ridden as he was making out. He took the opportunity to afford Gabe a look that left no confusion. There were times to bend like rye grass under a plains wind and times snap back with a mare's kick. This wasn't the latter, at least not yet. Looking back toward the troopers he continued. "Picked her up over there on Jiangyin, came from a broken home; do you know it weren't a full hour after she'd birthed her second baby that her husband set his hand to her again? Makes you wonder, don't it?"
Gabe stared at Duncan for a dumbfounded second, then seemed to transform before the troopers' eyes. Her shoulders sank down, slumping, and her back hunched a little. She slowly swung her gaze around to the troopers, then dropped it to stare at the ground. Inwardly she was still gritting her teeth, though it was more directed more towards Duncan than the purplebellies.
Corporal Cray looked at the woman, his nose wrinkling a little again. "Did you pay money for her?" he asked. Sometimes asking outright yielded the most surprising results. And slaving, after all, was by its nature a federal offence, unless you had a license, that was. And this man did not look like the type who could afford it.
Duncan arched his brows and nodded "I rightly did, I have a bill of sale somewheres sayin' as much." He stepped up on the gang ramp next to Gabe, his back to the troopers and looked up at Raivenn's angular neck. "Probably could've gotten a better model mind you... she's a mite... temperamental." Returning his attention to other two men he slipped his hand into the waistband of his breeches. "Course lot of them shinier aught-three's you're just payin' for fanciful things like refitted internal sewage processin' an' filtration units."
Corporal Cray closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Back-water people. Really. "For the woman, sir," he said in a clipped tone, opening his eyes again. "Did you pay money for the woman?"
It was probably lucky that Gabe was looking at the ground, as she most like wouldn't have been able to hide a very nasty glare in the trooper's direction. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into the palms of her hands. It wasn't just the comments, the general I-got-the-right-to-push-you-about attitude. The contents of the crates was stolen, and it was hot, and it would most likely set off all kinds of bells and whistles if they were checked against their fancy system. If the troopers decided to look in the boxes, and run the serials, then they were good and truly humped. And this notion did in no way help improve her mood. Her heart was beating a mite faster than usual in her chest. She had to bite her tongue hard to keep it obedient and silent.
"Oh!" Duncan's heavy brows arched almost in the same shape his mouth described as the sound came out, then reached out draping an arm 'round Gabe's shoulder. Unless he missed his mark she'd be about ready to spring at this purplebelly and knock all seven shades of gao se out of him, and if it came to that, having her in that frame of mind would be more than useful. For right now everything was going well. They hadn't been tossed as yet and hadn't even had to test just how good the most recent set of forgeries he'd been fixed up with really were. They weren't bound by law and weren't exchanging shots with these troopers with their backup close at hand. So long as they kept distracting the two Feds the chances are they'd make it out of this tight spot without a hand raised in anger. They'd be behind time, that much was a given and it probably meant they'd miss the sale. That means they would be out of pocket and in possession of stolen goods for longer than he'd planned and longer than he'd like; but it wasn't like passing on parts and spares was a difficult proposition. Duncan smiled warmly. "Truth be told..." He hugged her a little closer to him, hoping his earlier words 'stay frosty' were still with her, "This prize of a woman ought to have paid me... she came on board as payin' passenger... an' then well, what can I tell you? Now we're married an' everything's just shiny."
Gabe raised her head a little and smiled a strained smile at the troopers. "Yeah. Shiny. Never better." Behind Duncan's back, she jabbed her fingers into his ribs.
"I am happy to hear that," Corporal Cray said flatly. "Now. Sir. Registration and ident cards. Please." He had to ask nicely. He had to ask nicely many, many times, more times than he preferred, but that was regulations. Eventually, though, the 'nice' ran out. He shifted his weight, his eyes moving from the man's face to the woman's, then back again.
Duncan smiled again, the same idiotic smile he'd given the troopers a dozen or more times already, this time to cover the sharp dig in his side. "Darlin', you run on up now and fetch the documents these fine men're waitin' for, can't be keepin' them all the live long day, not when they got important things to 'tend to." He stepped away from Gabe a little as if in this made up marriage the husband was used to speaking his piece and wife did as she was told. There'd be words spoken about it later, no doubt. So long as they weren't running, or worse being hauled off to a detention centre.
Downey hefted a sigh of relief. He was fed up. Fed up of this niufen world, fed up of the unrelenting sun as more sweat trickled down his back and more than fed up with these two backwater, half-wit rim rats. Finally the Corporal was asking them again, hopefully they'd check the idents and be on their way.
Gabe turned her face up towards Duncan's and smiled sweetly. It didn't reach her eyes. "Yes, dear," she said and stood on tippytoes to kiss his cheek. With another quick glance at the troopers she scuttled up the ramp and across the cargo hold. Once she was out of sight she climbed the stairs to the upper levels, three steps at a time, then hurried along the corridor until she reached their room. All those papers, plentiful versions of them, were in a tin cigar box, hidden behind a loosened panel. She brought it out and set it down on the bed, sorting through the contents with rushed fingers. Her heart was still beating hard in her chest. Finally she found everything she needed, and she hurried back down again.
"What's in the boxes?" Cray asked the captain as his woman disappeared into the ship. "Also, are you loading or unloading?"
"Loading," Duncan answered and then as he opened his mouth to continue he raised his hand, as if he had just remembered something vitally important and craned his neck so he could call back into the hold and up into the walkways of the ship "Don't forget to mind that bucket!" And without waiting for a response he spoke again the the trooper, "Head's packed up."
Gabe slowed down her steps as she approached the men, holding the registration documents and the ident cards in both hands.
"Here you are, sir," she said, stepping closer to the purplebelly doing all the talking and holding the documents out to him. Her head was lowered; to the casual observer, she appeared humble, respectful, but in reality, she fixed her eyes on the ground to avoid the man seeing the hard anger in them.
"Thank you," Corporal Cray said, breathing a silent sigh of relief as he accepted the offered documents. Finally. He looked at the ident cards, angling them to see the holograms signalling authenticity. Jacob Copperfield and Karen Yosemite. He looked up.
"You didn't take his last name, miss?" It was a simple question, again, to the casual observer.
'Who gives a damn?' Of course Downey didn't say it out loud. He knew better, but by now he was past bored, past impatient and past downright hot and uncomfortable. Inwardly he wished that something would happen, they'd get a call on the comms to regroup and move on or more pointedly the Corporal, now he'd scanned their idents would decide they'd wasted enough time with mister and missus tramp hauler already.
"Well..." Duncan, or as far as these two were concerned, 'Jacob' began. "That might be a sore point Sir--" It was about time for another bout of coughing before he continued, forcing a distinct wheeze into his breathing. "Seems she don't like the sound of it. You ever heard tell of such a thing?"
Corporal Cray's expression did not change. "Not sure I have, sir," he said flatly as he stuck first one, then the other of the ident cards into his scanner.
Gabe held her breath. Seconds seemed to turn into hours as she waited for the scanner to beep all clear, signalling that no warrants or other inconveniences had been linked to these two particular identities since they were last used. Finally the beep came, and the thin man handed back the documents.
"Seems to be in order," Cray said. "Sorry about the trouble, sir, you'll be on your way in no-time." He hooked the ident scanner back in his belt and nodded towards the cargo. "What's in the boxes?" he asked for the second time. If someone was to accuse Corporal Cray of being dim-witted, they'd be mistaken. The man had dodged the question the first time around, and Cray had been on his guard since.
Gabe glanced at Duncan, keeping her mouth shut. One of the many things that could make this situation go rapidly south was for them to simultaneously blurt two different answers.
'Persistent sunvabitch,' Duncan thought silently. On the outside he appeared as unflappable and unfocused as he'd done since the beginning of the encounter. He'd kept them standing there in the sun as beads of sweat ran down their temples and soaked into their chinstraps, he'd rambled and droned on in an inane way that'd make all but the most dogged inquisitive officer give up and decide their time was better spent elsewhere. Trust this one not to be the usual cut and dried, functional, random rim-world patrol officer to decide to walk on up and unnecessarily complicate Duncan Cooperstone's existence.
Returning Gabe's glance Duncan stepped between the Alliance troopers and around to the other side of the, as yet unloaded, crates. As he rested his elbows on the inexpensive, unplaned wooden packing and rasped again for good measure he looked back to the troopers and where they stood, one looking distracted and little annoyed, in between him and where Gabe still stood in the mouth of the cargo bay. If there was to be an unavoidable unpleasantness he'd rather it happened on his terms and on his timescale, that is to say before any more of the troopers decided to head their way.
"Whole mess of things, folk just can't do without. 'Pparently," he stated simply, almost rolling his eyes. "Docket says fertilizer enrichers and nitrate bins...truth be told, all I know is they're heavier than a politician's pocket book an' the gorramn mule's decided today'd be the day to give up the ghost." He quirked his brow and continued quickly, "I don't 'spose two fine fellas such as yourselves would be interested in lendin' a hand would you? An' afterwards you can eat dinner with us, so as we can show our appreciation."
The rust bucket's registration documents were still in Corporal Cray's hand, and he glanced down at them. "Afraid not, sir," he said and looked up, his eyes steady on the moustached man's face. "Pardon me for saying so, sir, but that's not my gorram problem." Downey was not the only one starting to get annoyed. He unclipped his cortex reader and punched a combination of keys, occasionally glancing down at the registration docs and up at the bow of the ship to make sure the registration numbers matched.
"Very well. I'm going to let you go about your business, sir, ma'am," Cray finally said. "I am flagging your ship for inspection, however. Seems it's about time you got your licence renewed. I figure it slipped your mind between that cough and the new missus." His eyes did not leave Duncan's. " Next time you come someplace more... civilized, you'll be hailed by a cruiser and required to dock. That way you won't have to remember it yourself, sir." He punched the final key, saving the Firefly's information into the internal database.
Gabe tightened her fists by her sides. Like he was doing them a rutting favour, gorram purplebelly. Her stomach was in knots and she shifted her weight from foot to foot restlessly.
Now was the most crucial time, it'd taken longer than Duncan'd wanted and he needed to make sure they didn't come across as too impatient in the last moments. "Well..." he arched his brows and nodded his head, almost resignedly "It'll cost me some, having her serviced and that... but, you're doing your job..." He raised a hand to scratch the back of his neck roughly. An unexpected cruiser inspection wasn't part of what he bargained for, and for it to creep up at an inconvenient time, which as far as he and Gabe were concerned would be just about any time. And by the same token, was mostly assured going to be when soever they had a hold full of contraband. Then again there were reasons why he ran the ship dark, that as to say, with the transponder beacon offline, while in the black. Not strictly legal. Not at all legal, but practical in their line of work at times. And if an alliance patrol happened by? Well there were reasons why he'd learned from older captains than him the value of paying those that know how to fix it so the transponder could transmit the beacon codes of any number of ships, all of them non de-script and none of them matching the ident numbering of his own ship. So if this was all they were going to incur from the visit from the Feds, it was easily enough carried. "...thank you kindly," he added with an accepting smile.
Downey toggled the local comms channel and spoke into his helment mic. "Bravo Two, this is Bravo Two-One, nothing to report..."
"Welcome, sir," Cray said and handed back the ship documents. "Have a nice day." He nodded to Downey and pointed to the ship parked beyond the banged-up Firefly. "Let's go."
Gabe watched the two men walk off, her shoulders still stiff. She wanted to breathe a sigh of relief and didn't let herself; as long as they were still dirt-side, this weren't over. She looked at Duncan and echoed the officer's words. "Let's go," she said and hopped off the ramp. She made a beeline for the crates and hoisted one up on her shoulder by herself, carrying it towards the ship.
"Let's," Duncan agreed, hefting another crate against his chest as his legs carried him quickly toward where he could set it down again. "I'm developin' a powerful urge not to tarry longer than needs be here, buyer or no buyer."
Gabe nodded and put down her crate amongst the others inside the cargo hold. "I hear that..." she murmured and headed outside again. A stone-throw away the troopers were harassing the owners of the Trans-U parked next to Raivenn, and Gabe's heart would have gone out to them if she didn't have a lot more urgent things on her mind. "Help me with this," she said, grabbing the rough rope handle at one side of a large crate.
Duncan didn't take his eyes of her, as he twisted the rope loops in both hands. Her attention was still on the crate between them as he felt his arms take the strain "Well, least you got your break," he quipped as they sidestepped toward the hold, wondering if she'd call him on the act that had just transpired.
Oh, she would, when she was good and ready. There were other things taking priority in her mind, though, and first and foremost among those was getting the hell off this gorram dust-bowl and letting lost in the Black again. She raised her head enough to be able to give him a long, hard look that showed him exactly how amusing she reckoned he was right at that moment. The rope cut into her hands but she ignored the pain, knowing she'd have plenty of time to sit and pluck sisal-splinters out of her fingers with the tip of her knife that evening.
There was no mistaking his earlier conclusion was right. There would be words spoken for between them. Duncan had to wonder if he'd rather still be leading the feds in a two-step than have go through it. "Near finished," he grunted as he shoved one of the last crates into place.
"Yup," she said shortly and started securing the cargo with nets and straps, leaving the last couple of crates for him to bring inside. They'd been working fast, too fast, and she was exhausted, but finally they were all set to go. She looked outside one last time, then hit the buttons that closed the hatch and the ramp.
"Go wake her up," she told Duncan. "I'll finish up here."
As she dragged webbing over the well stacked crates Duncan slipped his arm round her waist squeezing her appreciatively for a beat before taking the stairwell up to the forward section two at a time. Grill treads of the gantries rattled their familiar welcome as he crossed the space above her and on through the common area to the bridge. Only when he slipped into the pilot's seat did he notice the dull, throbbing ache of his muscles from the morning's exertion as he reached out to let his fingers dance across panels of mismatched switches. A cursory glance at a smeared and streaked monitor bank told him the core was already warmed and the engines ready to be spun up. "How we doin' down there?" His voice was flat as it crackled through the overhead speakers in the cargo hold.
Gabe braced her foot against a crate and pulled strap after strap as hard as she could, making sure nothing would come sliding across the floor at an inopportune moment, then rested a beat or two before she walked over to the comm and pushed the transmit button with her thumb.
"All set," she said, her voice slightly out of breath. "I'm comin' up." She released the button and started climbing the stairs, a minute later sliding into the co-pilot seat and sinking down to an undisciplined half-laying slouch. The sun was still glaring through the window in front and she squinted and held her hand up to shield her eyes. "... good bloody riddance," she muttered to herself.
Duncan laughed gruffly as Raivenn described a one hundred and eighty degree turn and gained altitude, slowly at first, the yoke virbrating in his hands. Responsive to his lightest touch, the work weary Firefly steadily climbed into the clear baking sky of the Drift. "Just a couple of feds doin' what feds do, getting in the way of folk like us any whichway they can." As he eased back on the yoke, correcting pitch and yaw the nose of the ship came up as he set them on a vector for breaking the atmosphere.
On the ground far below Downey, more distracted and uncomfortable than ever in the close, unrelenting heat and unrelenting sun glanced up the retreating silhouette of the ship they'd wasted all of too much time on, only to be stuck going through the same motions with another rim rat border word trader. As he tried not to let the corporal see exactly how bored he was with the whole state of affairs he watched as the Firefly grew smaller and cursed silently. Just once, he wished, they'd encounter some actual criminals, arrest them and sieze their ship. Just once he wished he'd have something to put in his report. That would even make a day's routine patrol in a dustbowl like this bearable.
Far, far above him, the Firefly disappeared from view.
Author(s): Gabe Yazimoto and Duncan Cooperstone
Character(s): Gabe, Duncan
Timeline: Current
Canon: Yes
Warnings: None
The sun was being particularly merciless that day, and as Gabe straightened her back and rolled her shoulders, she was red-faced and sweaty, her hair clinging to her forehead, and her shirt to her back. "... liáng shuí," she panted and walked up the loading ramp to where a bottle of water sat in the shade.
Loading crates was part of the gig, had always been, but that didn't mean it was the most enjoyable of tasks. Normally the mule (which was to say, Duncan) handled the actual moving from outside to inside or the other way around, but since the gorram thing had decided to take some unscheduled downtime, kicked the bucket, so to speak, it was down to manual labour. The fence had dumped the pallet outside the ship and been on his merry way, and the things had to get inside Raivenn somehow, right?
And so the sun of MacLaren's Drift was beating down on both their backs as they, on their own and with joint efforts, hauled crates filled with goods that really were a smidge too hot to be handled. Gabe unscrewed the cap of the water bottle and put the bottle to her lips, drinking down large mouthfuls with her head tilted back, relishing in the coolness of it. Some of it escaped the corners of her mouth and trickled down her chin and her neck, but it weren't like she minded. Extra relief, after all.
Eventually she lowered the bottle and, after replacing the cap, wiped her mouth, then her forehead. They really didn't have a lot of time to spare, the buyer was expecting them at the end of the week, at the other end of the Verse, but she figured she deserved a minute or two in the shade. She leaned against the side of the doors and looked out at Duncan, still hard at work. Around half of the heavy crates were inside Raivenn's cargo hold already, which unfortunately meant that half of it was still outside, baking in the sun.
"We makin' good time?" she asked.
Feet a shoulder width apart Duncan set his hands to the next crate. Sometimes he wondered why whoever designed these things had to make them just that bit too wide. A little narrower would mean his arms wouldn't be stretched as much and he'd be able to exert more pressure on the awkward cube. His hair was matted and the sweat stung his eyes as he blinked, even in the middle of the day his eyes needed to adjust to the artificial yellow glow of the cargo hold compared with the unrelenting glare of MacLaren's sun. Hefting the crate into place and breathing heavily he reached for the bandanna he usually kept knotted loosely round his neck and then scolded himself inwardly for forgetting, again, it was no longer there. "We're making time," he answered, even his breath seemed too warm, "Happen we'll pick up some of what we lost when we get out in the black." Walking over to Gabe he accepted the offered bottle. "We got the back of this broke now anyhow." Pointing with his chin toward the remaining crates he raked his fingers through his thick, wet hair before taking a deep draught.
Gabe ran her hand down his arm to rest for a moment at the crook of his elbow, fingers squeezing a little. "Yeah," she said and took the bottle from him, taking another mouthful, then put it back on a crate. "Wouldn't hate a break," she mumbled, knowing full-well that it weren't gonna fly. They were on a tight schedule as it was. She looked out at the remaining crates, then lifted her gaze a little. Her stomach dropped, and her eyes widened a little, then narrowed.
Crossing the bridge from the town was a small group of men and women, all clad in black and purple armour. As they reached the bank they formed a semi-circle, one man obviously talking and pointing, and then the armoured and armed men and women spread out in groups of two, each group heading for a vessel. One such group was walking their way.
"... oh, gorrammit," she muttered.
Duncan followed her gaze. Not his best day ever. Ship parts were fairly innocuous in most quarters. Not so much on MacLaren's Drift, where, a good mechanic was rarer than an honest man on Eavesdown. Even a barely competent one wasn't easy to come by on this dustbowl. And there they were, crate after crate of impellar bearings, engine gaskets and fuel filters. Insured, no doubt, after all that's how the legitimate haulier maintained his contract with the suppliers. Sign on to haul a cargo for a corporate outfit, some gets misplaced or damaged in transit, the insurance pays out and everyone's happy. Especially the on-the-surface reputable cargo company captain who, mid-leg, stops off at any number of quiet and lawless moons like MacLaren's and finds an opportunistic type who'll help some of that same cargo get misplaced, right into the hold of their ship in return for a quick pay off. Everything goes smoothly and the captain who ends up with the soon to be insurance write-off goods takes them off world and finds a buyer. Something goes wrong? Well, the corporate haulier is on his merry, with the money in his pocket and it's all on that opportunistic soul to deal with the fall out.
Duncan Cooperstone was such an opportunistic man, he had to be, and now he was stood, hip resting against a crate of parts that had be acquired in that exact manner, the rest not even loaded yet. Their mule lay beached and sputtering outside, they were falling behind time with a pair of Feds closing fast. And it was gorramn hot. Not his best day ever, for certain and for sure. He nodded a little and picked the bottle back up from where it sat, stepping out towards the bright, white daylight and the approaching troopers. Not taking his eyes from their ingress he gravelled "Stay frosty" as he passed her.
Frosty? Now, that weren't how one would describe Gabe's usual disposition, and with the weather being the way it was? Good luck with that, Captain. Gabe clenched her jaw and stalked after him, a few steps behind, not taking her eyes off the troopers either.
"Good afternoon, sir, ma'am," said one of the troopers as they got close enough. His name was Corporal Cray, and he was a long way from home. A tall fair man with a thin moustache that looked like it couldn't be bothered, he was stationed at Unity Barracks, Persephone. They had recently been tasked with running ident-check and cargo inspection assignments to the rim planets, however, and if he could be anywhere in the Verse other than here? He would be. There was no arguing with orders, however, and more to the point, there was no arguing with the Sarge.
"Just standard inspection. Is this your vessel, sir?" Corporal Cray glanced up at the towering ship. Looked like a flying scrapyard to him, but, he didn't have to fly in it, did he?
"Afternoon! And can I just say what sight for sore eyes y'all are." Anyone who was listening would possibly describe Duncan's tone as bright, grateful even. Anyone who was listening who actually knew him would understand just how incongruous that was. Duncan stepped down onto the gang ramp, the thumb of his free hand pulling the strap of his suspenders back onto his shoulders from where it had been hanging loose.
"Yessir!" he continued, the chirp in his tone muted only by his rough sounding voice "I was just saying the other day..." Frowning with confusion he turned toward Gabe. "Were it yesterday or the day 'fore? When I was just sayin' these parts don't see enough law an' order?" He had to look away, if his eyes stayed on her a moment longer he knew a smile would crease his features and so he faced the troopers again. "You know this place don't even have a sheriff nor nothin', it's plain dangerous for honest folk to--" The cough was rough. He made it sound like a bag of glass bottles had been dropped on a concrete street as he stepped forward toward the troopers some more, almost bent double as he rasped and hacked. When he straightened up, red-faced, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and, pulling the cap from Gabe's bottle, took a long drink. Finally, almost as an afterthought he pulled the bottle from his lips and offered it toward the upright trooper. "Drink?"
The act was so convincing that Gabe had to consciously restrain herself from stepping up to Duncan and pat his back. Just for a moment, though, then her hand shot up and rubbed over her mouth to hide a quick grin. When it was schooled off her face again, she hooked her thumbs inside her belt and shifted her weight from one leg to the other. "That's what you said, Captain," she said lowly.
Corporal Cray stared at the coughing man and just barely managed to keep from taking a step back. This is great, this is just excellent, he thought to himself. Not only is this place hot, dusty and downright insanitary, they got a sickness as well. Luckily, expeditions to the rim required special equipment.
"Masks," Cray said and looked at his companion. He flicked open a compartment on his belt and pulled out a thin protective mask which he placed over his mouth, pinching it over the nose to keep it in place. Feeling a bit more at ease, he turned back towards the coughing man.
"Now, sir," Cray said. "You did not answer my question. Is this your vessel?"
Trooper First Class Downey fitted his particle mask in place and glanced between the man, his ship and the woman shuffling her feet. "Rim rats," he muttered quietly beneath his mask as he peered into the belly of the old cargo hauler. Even from the outside, corroded boltheads and pipework with residue stains were clearly visible. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and adjusted the sling for his weapon. These routine patrol stops annoyed him. 'See the 'Verse'? So far he'd seen a dozen dust balls, or half frozen or anywhere in between half-developed worlds. All of them dung piles and none of them the green rolling hills of Shinon like the recruiting desk sergeant had said.
Resting his elbows against the nearest packing crate Duncan nodded. "That she be, bought an' paid for." He gestured over his shoulder. "Mite rough 'round the edges an' the containment's a touch suspect... oh, an' of course we only just found out the septic storage's been leaking effluent into the fresh water tanks... but she serves."
Corporal Cray wrinkled his nose behind the mask. That people could stand to live like that was beyond his comprehension.
"Very well, sir," Cray said, keeping most of the disgust he felt out of his voice. "Registration documents and ident cards, if you please, sir. You too, ma'am," he said, nodding at the woman as he produced an ident card reader from his belt.
Gabe gritted her teeth and took a step forward. "I ain't your gorram 'ma'am'--" she started.
Downey started a little as the one he discerned to be the ship's captain clapped his hands together loudly. "Ain't she a firecracker?"
Downey looked over at the woman and then back to the Captain as another bout of hard coughing seized the man.
Duncan patted his chest hard grunting a little at the same time as if the cough was troubling him, as it would be if he really were as disease ridden as he was making out. He took the opportunity to afford Gabe a look that left no confusion. There were times to bend like rye grass under a plains wind and times snap back with a mare's kick. This wasn't the latter, at least not yet. Looking back toward the troopers he continued. "Picked her up over there on Jiangyin, came from a broken home; do you know it weren't a full hour after she'd birthed her second baby that her husband set his hand to her again? Makes you wonder, don't it?"
Gabe stared at Duncan for a dumbfounded second, then seemed to transform before the troopers' eyes. Her shoulders sank down, slumping, and her back hunched a little. She slowly swung her gaze around to the troopers, then dropped it to stare at the ground. Inwardly she was still gritting her teeth, though it was more directed more towards Duncan than the purplebellies.
Corporal Cray looked at the woman, his nose wrinkling a little again. "Did you pay money for her?" he asked. Sometimes asking outright yielded the most surprising results. And slaving, after all, was by its nature a federal offence, unless you had a license, that was. And this man did not look like the type who could afford it.
Duncan arched his brows and nodded "I rightly did, I have a bill of sale somewheres sayin' as much." He stepped up on the gang ramp next to Gabe, his back to the troopers and looked up at Raivenn's angular neck. "Probably could've gotten a better model mind you... she's a mite... temperamental." Returning his attention to other two men he slipped his hand into the waistband of his breeches. "Course lot of them shinier aught-three's you're just payin' for fanciful things like refitted internal sewage processin' an' filtration units."
Corporal Cray closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Back-water people. Really. "For the woman, sir," he said in a clipped tone, opening his eyes again. "Did you pay money for the woman?"
It was probably lucky that Gabe was looking at the ground, as she most like wouldn't have been able to hide a very nasty glare in the trooper's direction. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into the palms of her hands. It wasn't just the comments, the general I-got-the-right-to-push-you-about attitude. The contents of the crates was stolen, and it was hot, and it would most likely set off all kinds of bells and whistles if they were checked against their fancy system. If the troopers decided to look in the boxes, and run the serials, then they were good and truly humped. And this notion did in no way help improve her mood. Her heart was beating a mite faster than usual in her chest. She had to bite her tongue hard to keep it obedient and silent.
"Oh!" Duncan's heavy brows arched almost in the same shape his mouth described as the sound came out, then reached out draping an arm 'round Gabe's shoulder. Unless he missed his mark she'd be about ready to spring at this purplebelly and knock all seven shades of gao se out of him, and if it came to that, having her in that frame of mind would be more than useful. For right now everything was going well. They hadn't been tossed as yet and hadn't even had to test just how good the most recent set of forgeries he'd been fixed up with really were. They weren't bound by law and weren't exchanging shots with these troopers with their backup close at hand. So long as they kept distracting the two Feds the chances are they'd make it out of this tight spot without a hand raised in anger. They'd be behind time, that much was a given and it probably meant they'd miss the sale. That means they would be out of pocket and in possession of stolen goods for longer than he'd planned and longer than he'd like; but it wasn't like passing on parts and spares was a difficult proposition. Duncan smiled warmly. "Truth be told..." He hugged her a little closer to him, hoping his earlier words 'stay frosty' were still with her, "This prize of a woman ought to have paid me... she came on board as payin' passenger... an' then well, what can I tell you? Now we're married an' everything's just shiny."
Gabe raised her head a little and smiled a strained smile at the troopers. "Yeah. Shiny. Never better." Behind Duncan's back, she jabbed her fingers into his ribs.
"I am happy to hear that," Corporal Cray said flatly. "Now. Sir. Registration and ident cards. Please." He had to ask nicely. He had to ask nicely many, many times, more times than he preferred, but that was regulations. Eventually, though, the 'nice' ran out. He shifted his weight, his eyes moving from the man's face to the woman's, then back again.
Duncan smiled again, the same idiotic smile he'd given the troopers a dozen or more times already, this time to cover the sharp dig in his side. "Darlin', you run on up now and fetch the documents these fine men're waitin' for, can't be keepin' them all the live long day, not when they got important things to 'tend to." He stepped away from Gabe a little as if in this made up marriage the husband was used to speaking his piece and wife did as she was told. There'd be words spoken about it later, no doubt. So long as they weren't running, or worse being hauled off to a detention centre.
Downey hefted a sigh of relief. He was fed up. Fed up of this niufen world, fed up of the unrelenting sun as more sweat trickled down his back and more than fed up with these two backwater, half-wit rim rats. Finally the Corporal was asking them again, hopefully they'd check the idents and be on their way.
Gabe turned her face up towards Duncan's and smiled sweetly. It didn't reach her eyes. "Yes, dear," she said and stood on tippytoes to kiss his cheek. With another quick glance at the troopers she scuttled up the ramp and across the cargo hold. Once she was out of sight she climbed the stairs to the upper levels, three steps at a time, then hurried along the corridor until she reached their room. All those papers, plentiful versions of them, were in a tin cigar box, hidden behind a loosened panel. She brought it out and set it down on the bed, sorting through the contents with rushed fingers. Her heart was still beating hard in her chest. Finally she found everything she needed, and she hurried back down again.
"What's in the boxes?" Cray asked the captain as his woman disappeared into the ship. "Also, are you loading or unloading?"
"Loading," Duncan answered and then as he opened his mouth to continue he raised his hand, as if he had just remembered something vitally important and craned his neck so he could call back into the hold and up into the walkways of the ship "Don't forget to mind that bucket!" And without waiting for a response he spoke again the the trooper, "Head's packed up."
Gabe slowed down her steps as she approached the men, holding the registration documents and the ident cards in both hands.
"Here you are, sir," she said, stepping closer to the purplebelly doing all the talking and holding the documents out to him. Her head was lowered; to the casual observer, she appeared humble, respectful, but in reality, she fixed her eyes on the ground to avoid the man seeing the hard anger in them.
"Thank you," Corporal Cray said, breathing a silent sigh of relief as he accepted the offered documents. Finally. He looked at the ident cards, angling them to see the holograms signalling authenticity. Jacob Copperfield and Karen Yosemite. He looked up.
"You didn't take his last name, miss?" It was a simple question, again, to the casual observer.
'Who gives a damn?' Of course Downey didn't say it out loud. He knew better, but by now he was past bored, past impatient and past downright hot and uncomfortable. Inwardly he wished that something would happen, they'd get a call on the comms to regroup and move on or more pointedly the Corporal, now he'd scanned their idents would decide they'd wasted enough time with mister and missus tramp hauler already.
"Well..." Duncan, or as far as these two were concerned, 'Jacob' began. "That might be a sore point Sir--" It was about time for another bout of coughing before he continued, forcing a distinct wheeze into his breathing. "Seems she don't like the sound of it. You ever heard tell of such a thing?"
Corporal Cray's expression did not change. "Not sure I have, sir," he said flatly as he stuck first one, then the other of the ident cards into his scanner.
Gabe held her breath. Seconds seemed to turn into hours as she waited for the scanner to beep all clear, signalling that no warrants or other inconveniences had been linked to these two particular identities since they were last used. Finally the beep came, and the thin man handed back the documents.
"Seems to be in order," Cray said. "Sorry about the trouble, sir, you'll be on your way in no-time." He hooked the ident scanner back in his belt and nodded towards the cargo. "What's in the boxes?" he asked for the second time. If someone was to accuse Corporal Cray of being dim-witted, they'd be mistaken. The man had dodged the question the first time around, and Cray had been on his guard since.
Gabe glanced at Duncan, keeping her mouth shut. One of the many things that could make this situation go rapidly south was for them to simultaneously blurt two different answers.
'Persistent sunvabitch,' Duncan thought silently. On the outside he appeared as unflappable and unfocused as he'd done since the beginning of the encounter. He'd kept them standing there in the sun as beads of sweat ran down their temples and soaked into their chinstraps, he'd rambled and droned on in an inane way that'd make all but the most dogged inquisitive officer give up and decide their time was better spent elsewhere. Trust this one not to be the usual cut and dried, functional, random rim-world patrol officer to decide to walk on up and unnecessarily complicate Duncan Cooperstone's existence.
Returning Gabe's glance Duncan stepped between the Alliance troopers and around to the other side of the, as yet unloaded, crates. As he rested his elbows on the inexpensive, unplaned wooden packing and rasped again for good measure he looked back to the troopers and where they stood, one looking distracted and little annoyed, in between him and where Gabe still stood in the mouth of the cargo bay. If there was to be an unavoidable unpleasantness he'd rather it happened on his terms and on his timescale, that is to say before any more of the troopers decided to head their way.
"Whole mess of things, folk just can't do without. 'Pparently," he stated simply, almost rolling his eyes. "Docket says fertilizer enrichers and nitrate bins...truth be told, all I know is they're heavier than a politician's pocket book an' the gorramn mule's decided today'd be the day to give up the ghost." He quirked his brow and continued quickly, "I don't 'spose two fine fellas such as yourselves would be interested in lendin' a hand would you? An' afterwards you can eat dinner with us, so as we can show our appreciation."
The rust bucket's registration documents were still in Corporal Cray's hand, and he glanced down at them. "Afraid not, sir," he said and looked up, his eyes steady on the moustached man's face. "Pardon me for saying so, sir, but that's not my gorram problem." Downey was not the only one starting to get annoyed. He unclipped his cortex reader and punched a combination of keys, occasionally glancing down at the registration docs and up at the bow of the ship to make sure the registration numbers matched.
"Very well. I'm going to let you go about your business, sir, ma'am," Cray finally said. "I am flagging your ship for inspection, however. Seems it's about time you got your licence renewed. I figure it slipped your mind between that cough and the new missus." His eyes did not leave Duncan's. " Next time you come someplace more... civilized, you'll be hailed by a cruiser and required to dock. That way you won't have to remember it yourself, sir." He punched the final key, saving the Firefly's information into the internal database.
Gabe tightened her fists by her sides. Like he was doing them a rutting favour, gorram purplebelly. Her stomach was in knots and she shifted her weight from foot to foot restlessly.
Now was the most crucial time, it'd taken longer than Duncan'd wanted and he needed to make sure they didn't come across as too impatient in the last moments. "Well..." he arched his brows and nodded his head, almost resignedly "It'll cost me some, having her serviced and that... but, you're doing your job..." He raised a hand to scratch the back of his neck roughly. An unexpected cruiser inspection wasn't part of what he bargained for, and for it to creep up at an inconvenient time, which as far as he and Gabe were concerned would be just about any time. And by the same token, was mostly assured going to be when soever they had a hold full of contraband. Then again there were reasons why he ran the ship dark, that as to say, with the transponder beacon offline, while in the black. Not strictly legal. Not at all legal, but practical in their line of work at times. And if an alliance patrol happened by? Well there were reasons why he'd learned from older captains than him the value of paying those that know how to fix it so the transponder could transmit the beacon codes of any number of ships, all of them non de-script and none of them matching the ident numbering of his own ship. So if this was all they were going to incur from the visit from the Feds, it was easily enough carried. "...thank you kindly," he added with an accepting smile.
Downey toggled the local comms channel and spoke into his helment mic. "Bravo Two, this is Bravo Two-One, nothing to report..."
"Welcome, sir," Cray said and handed back the ship documents. "Have a nice day." He nodded to Downey and pointed to the ship parked beyond the banged-up Firefly. "Let's go."
Gabe watched the two men walk off, her shoulders still stiff. She wanted to breathe a sigh of relief and didn't let herself; as long as they were still dirt-side, this weren't over. She looked at Duncan and echoed the officer's words. "Let's go," she said and hopped off the ramp. She made a beeline for the crates and hoisted one up on her shoulder by herself, carrying it towards the ship.
"Let's," Duncan agreed, hefting another crate against his chest as his legs carried him quickly toward where he could set it down again. "I'm developin' a powerful urge not to tarry longer than needs be here, buyer or no buyer."
Gabe nodded and put down her crate amongst the others inside the cargo hold. "I hear that..." she murmured and headed outside again. A stone-throw away the troopers were harassing the owners of the Trans-U parked next to Raivenn, and Gabe's heart would have gone out to them if she didn't have a lot more urgent things on her mind. "Help me with this," she said, grabbing the rough rope handle at one side of a large crate.
Duncan didn't take his eyes of her, as he twisted the rope loops in both hands. Her attention was still on the crate between them as he felt his arms take the strain "Well, least you got your break," he quipped as they sidestepped toward the hold, wondering if she'd call him on the act that had just transpired.
Oh, she would, when she was good and ready. There were other things taking priority in her mind, though, and first and foremost among those was getting the hell off this gorram dust-bowl and letting lost in the Black again. She raised her head enough to be able to give him a long, hard look that showed him exactly how amusing she reckoned he was right at that moment. The rope cut into her hands but she ignored the pain, knowing she'd have plenty of time to sit and pluck sisal-splinters out of her fingers with the tip of her knife that evening.
There was no mistaking his earlier conclusion was right. There would be words spoken for between them. Duncan had to wonder if he'd rather still be leading the feds in a two-step than have go through it. "Near finished," he grunted as he shoved one of the last crates into place.
"Yup," she said shortly and started securing the cargo with nets and straps, leaving the last couple of crates for him to bring inside. They'd been working fast, too fast, and she was exhausted, but finally they were all set to go. She looked outside one last time, then hit the buttons that closed the hatch and the ramp.
"Go wake her up," she told Duncan. "I'll finish up here."
As she dragged webbing over the well stacked crates Duncan slipped his arm round her waist squeezing her appreciatively for a beat before taking the stairwell up to the forward section two at a time. Grill treads of the gantries rattled their familiar welcome as he crossed the space above her and on through the common area to the bridge. Only when he slipped into the pilot's seat did he notice the dull, throbbing ache of his muscles from the morning's exertion as he reached out to let his fingers dance across panels of mismatched switches. A cursory glance at a smeared and streaked monitor bank told him the core was already warmed and the engines ready to be spun up. "How we doin' down there?" His voice was flat as it crackled through the overhead speakers in the cargo hold.
Gabe braced her foot against a crate and pulled strap after strap as hard as she could, making sure nothing would come sliding across the floor at an inopportune moment, then rested a beat or two before she walked over to the comm and pushed the transmit button with her thumb.
"All set," she said, her voice slightly out of breath. "I'm comin' up." She released the button and started climbing the stairs, a minute later sliding into the co-pilot seat and sinking down to an undisciplined half-laying slouch. The sun was still glaring through the window in front and she squinted and held her hand up to shield her eyes. "... good bloody riddance," she muttered to herself.
Duncan laughed gruffly as Raivenn described a one hundred and eighty degree turn and gained altitude, slowly at first, the yoke virbrating in his hands. Responsive to his lightest touch, the work weary Firefly steadily climbed into the clear baking sky of the Drift. "Just a couple of feds doin' what feds do, getting in the way of folk like us any whichway they can." As he eased back on the yoke, correcting pitch and yaw the nose of the ship came up as he set them on a vector for breaking the atmosphere.
On the ground far below Downey, more distracted and uncomfortable than ever in the close, unrelenting heat and unrelenting sun glanced up the retreating silhouette of the ship they'd wasted all of too much time on, only to be stuck going through the same motions with another rim rat border word trader. As he tried not to let the corporal see exactly how bored he was with the whole state of affairs he watched as the Firefly grew smaller and cursed silently. Just once, he wished, they'd encounter some actual criminals, arrest them and sieze their ship. Just once he wished he'd have something to put in his report. That would even make a day's routine patrol in a dustbowl like this bearable.
Far, far above him, the Firefly disappeared from view.
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